


With Magic born of mingled Blood and Lyrium

by griffindork93



Series: Canticle of The Warden [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: All origins true, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Solona Amell, BAMF Warden (Dragon Age), Badass Solona Amell, Blood Mages, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, But only one true Warden, Canon Divergence, Canon taken to a deeper level, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, DLC included, Darkspawn, Daveth (Dragon Age) Lives, Demons, Does this count as a fix-it?, Dwarves, Elves, F/M, Fade Spirits, Female Amell - Freeform, Female Mage Warden - Freeform, Grey Wardens, Hardened Alistair (Dragon Age), Lore - Freeform, Lyrium, M/M, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mages, Miscommunication, Multi, Multi-Origin, No Actual Sex Scenes, No Beta We Die Like Duncan, Non-Canonical Character Death, Novelization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Qunari, Secrets, Slow Burn, Specializations, Strong Female Characters, Tags Are Hard, Templars, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Fifth Blight, The mabari is named Barkspawn, Think Titans!, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, Warden Amell - Freeform, Werewolves, but nothing explicit, filling in plotholes, hardened warden, headcanons, it's not all roses, sexual acts referenced, the author struggles to write combat scenes, varric's storytelling, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffindork93/pseuds/griffindork93
Summary: Years with only anarchy, bloodshed, and death to look forward to.Solona hadn’t given much thought to her future as Duncan whisked her away from the Circle, shocked by Jowan revealing himself to be a blood mage.She may have been conscripted to fight a horde of monsters, but surely, they didn’t expect her to fight? She was a mage. She lived in a stone prison and her every move was watched around the clock by ever-present templars.Fighting was not in her wheelhouse.If she had known what laid in wait, Solona would have resisted the Warden’s recruitment efforts.Okay, that was a lie. War, betrayal, and darkspawn were a price she would gladly pray for the freedom life as a Grey Warden offered.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Amell (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Daveth/Morrigan (Dragon Age)
Series: Canticle of The Warden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986820
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

Nearly three years since he was forced to flee.

Varric nursed his tankard of brandy-spiked cider, repeatedly dragging his forefinger across the wood. In the aftermath of Anders’ moronic decision to blow up the chantry, the ever-climbing tensions between mages and templars had reached their boiling point. Anders’ rebellion had become a full-blown war between the two groups. Kirkwall, being the birthplace of the incident, had seen an increase in the number of Seekers in the city.

He found their presence to be an acceptable compromise. Meredith’s actions during her stint as Knight-Commander had pushed numerous mages towards blood magic; making pacts with demons to free themselves from their oppressors. Of course, she responded with even stricter measures against the mages, and in a vicious cycle, the situation spiraled out of control. The Gallows seemed better under Cullen’s command. The man had rallied what remained of Kirkwall’s templars and restored order to the city.

But just last week, Varric had heard rumors that Cullen would be taking up a new post. One that caused him concern.

Whispers of an Inquisition were everywhere. Varric knew their purpose, their goal. He also knew they were looking for a friend of his to head it. The last thing Champion needed was to be thrust right back into the middle of this war.

They had all scattered into the wind before the dust settled down. Aside from Merrill and Aveline, both of whom remained in Kirkwall. Varric hadn’t heard from the rest of his companions in ages. Hawke, especially. Half a dozen letters since he had left, written mostly to reassure the dwarf that he was still alive.

So, when a squad of soldiers stormed the Hanged Man bearing the heraldry of the infamous Seekers of Truth, Varric knew his time had run out.

“No need to be rough fellas,” he chuckled as they forcefully pushed him over the table. “Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you anything you like.”

The dwarf didn’t fight when they blindfolded him. It was a paltry intimidation tactic. One that wasn’t working because he had anticipated Seekers appearing on his doorstep as soon as they stepped foot in the City of Chains.

Arms behind his back, he was carried out of the tavern, following a path of turns that Varric recognized even blindfolded.

A heavy wooden door slammed open. They had reached their destination. The cloth over his eyes was none to gently pulled away, along with several of his magnificent hairs. His guards threw him into a stone chair. Varric had to bite down on the temptation to snort. This stone throne was not originally part of the estate, and the idea of the Chantry’s special task force dragging it all the way to Kirkwall just for this interrogation was laughable.

He reached up to gently massage his nose. Not broken, which he wasn’t complaining about, but definitely smarting from being pushed into a table. It was a wonder that the Seekers ever got invited to a party.

“I’ve had gentler invitations,” he chuckled, finally raising his head to look at his interrogator.

He gave the woman that stepped out of the darkness points for effort. The room was shrouded in darkness apart from the circle of light around him.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast,” she announced, Nevarran accent distinct, “Seeker of the Chantry.”

Severe and dramatic were the first two words that came to mind as he gazed upon her. Matching her accent, Cassandra had the bronze skin and dark hair he expected of a Nevarran. Narrow eyebrows, heart-shaped face, strong jaw, darker lips, and walnut hazel eyes. Slightly angular, but it only added to the beauty. The full body platemail armor, also emblazoned with the bright white symbol of her order, exuded power and authority.

A warning sign to others, perhaps. But not Varric Tethras.

With a nod of her head, the two goons that had manhandled him stepped forward.

“And just what are you seeking?”

Her eyes narrowed. “The Champion.”

Varric pretended to study his fingernails, uncaring that he couldn’t see them through his leather gloves. He twisted his wrist away, looking to the side. “Which one?”

It was a serious question. Kirkwall had two champions. One in action and another in name.

His blasé attitude angered her. She stalked forward, throwing a very familiar book in his face. And this time he couldn’t ascertain the state of his nose, because the Seeker had drawn her dagger and currently had its tip tucked casually under his chin.

“You know exactly why I am here. Time to start talking, dwarf. They tell me you’re good at it.”

The dagger spun in her hand as she thrusts it down, lodging it in the pages of the open book in his lap. To himself, Varric cursed this woman’s lack of appreciation for a delightful story. With a heavy sigh, he lifted the book, recognizing the part of the story depicted. He wondered how long she had to practice that trick, to get it to fall open at the end of the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Varric exhaled. “What do you want to know?” Maybe she just wanted clarification.

“Everything,” Cassandra answered, turning to face him. “Start at the beginning.”

The dwarf traced a gloved hand over the image of the Amell family crest, and launched into his story.

“Darkspawn everywhere. The champion and his sister and taken it upon themselves to be the front guard, dealing with the worst of the horde. They came across a group of scouts. The monsters fell under Hawke’s blades. The siblings prepared to make their stand as the foul creatures surrounded them. Just when the Champion had turned to hoping their forces would run out, an ogre crested the path.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an ogre, Seeker, but let me tell you. They are terrifying. But Hawke was calm. With a flurry of sweeps, he scored the ogre’s chest. With the beast offset by his ferociousness, Hawke leapt, stabbing Finesse in its throat. The ogre collapsed. Hawke’s shining red steel dagger plunged down twice more to ensure its prey was dead.

“But there was no end to the darkspawn. The siblings put their backs to a cliff, wondering what miracle it would take to deliver them to safety.

“There was an animalistic roar. The Champion and his sister whirled, uncaring of turning their backs to the darkspawn. Atop the small cliff sat a purple dragon with five horns. The massive creature took flight, a line of flame raining down from its jaws as it cut a path through the horde.”

“Bullshit,” came the sharp cut off from the Seeker. “That’s not what really happened.”

Apparently, Cassandra’s temper was a short as her hair.

Varric leaned back in the chair he was provided. “Does that not match the story you’ve heard, Seeker?”

She paced before him. “I’m not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth.”

The dwarf was silent. No one wanted to hear the truth. They just wanted to criticize the choices Hawke was forced to make, to lay the blame for this insipid war at his feet. That was half the reason he wrote the book. There was more truth in there than Cassandra believed, hidden beneath fancy words and a little bit of exaggeration. Okay, a lot of exaggeration and a healthy dose of bullshit. Champion had agreed to the deception, as a matter of protecting family.

Varric laughed, bitter. “What makes you think I know the truth?”

“Don’t lie to me!” the Seeker shouted, emphasized by pointing a gauntlet covered finger in his face. “You knew him even before he became the Champion!”

He raised his hands in supplication. So her target was Hawke. “Even if I did, I don’t know where he is now.”

“Do you have any idea what is at stake here?”

The words rang hollow to Varric’s ears. Of course, he knew what was at stake. He was there when Kirkwall’s circle fell. When its Chantry was destroyed in an act of revenge. “Let me guess,” he drawled lowly, “your precious Chantry’s fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war?”

He lowered the accusing finger he had pointed at the Seeker’s back. “And you need the one person who could help you put it back together.”

“The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can’t point me to him, tell me everything you know.”

“You aren’t worried I’ll just make it up as I go?”

“Not at all,” she said, firmly.

Varric steeped his fingers. “You’ll need to hear the whole story. And like all stories of this age, it begins with the Blight.”


	2. Into the valley of dreams

“You know how this story starts. Ferelden was on the brink of being devoured in an approaching Blight because they had cast out the Grey Warden order four ages ago. Duncan, the current commander when the darkspawn broke the surface, scoured Ferelden, looking for recruits to join his mythical gang. And the first place he went? The Circle of Magi. Home to the woman who would become known as the Hero of Ferelden.

“On a cliff overlooking the dark waters of Lake Calenhad stands the tower fortress that is home to the Circle of Magi. The Tower is the only place in Ferelden where mages can study their art. Within the high stone walls, the Circle practices its magic and trains apprentices in the proper use of their powers.

“But the Circle Tower is as much a prison as a refuge; the ever vigilant templars of the Chantry watch over all mages, constantly alert for any sign of corruption.”

Cassandra’s face looked thunderous at his description, no doubt wishing the circles were more prison-like so people like Anders wouldn’t come to be. “Let’s agree to disagree on this point, Seeker.”

She was hardly appeased, but she pursed her lips and let him continue his narration.

“The gilded cage of the tower was the only life Solona Amell knew. Her sensitivity for magic was discovered at a young age. She grew up inside those walls. In more ways than one.

“Back then, Firecracker would never have fought against the templars. She was very much on their side. Magic to her was exhilaration, and she was prone to catastrophes. The templars kept her safe. Blood magic was abhorrent.”

“But no longer,” the Seeker said, slyly.

Varric released a weighty sigh. “When you’ve lived through the shit she did, you toughen up. You make tough decisions you don’t want to make and justify those means which you thought you would never turn to.”

* * *

**16 Haring, 9:30 Dragon**

The library was teeming with people. Steady chatter filled Solona’s ears as she paged through the tome in front of her. Chants, warnings—which were always on the bottom of the page for some reason—drawings of glyphs. Magic was wondrous, she thought. The sheer number of spells she could learn. All of the enchanters warned the mages to not overtax themselves by studying multiple schools. Most of her fellow mages heeded that warning.

But not Solona. She couldn’t imagine restricting herself to one or two schools. How could she when finding a new spell made her heart flutter.

“What has caught your interest this time, Solona?”

The blonde mage turned in her seat, giving the armored man standing at her shoulder a broad grin. “Has your shift started already, Ser Cullen?”

Maybe it was just her, but Cullen Rutherford had the most gorgeous amber eyes. And currently those eyes were locked on her.

“I came on just a few minutes ago. But when you didn’t immediately call out, I decided to come and see what has stolen your attention.”

Solona fought down a blush at the implication that the templar liked her attention. The templars actually weren’t supposed to be so friendly with the charges they guarded. New arrivals to the tower enjoyed the slightly relaxed atmosphere.

“Take a look at this.” She encouraged him to draw closer to her in order to see the text she was pointing at. “I’ve found the next spell in the lightning tree. It’s a shock spell. See how it has a larger area of effect?”

Cullen laughed, brightly. “I’ve never seen you so excited. So, have you decided on lightning magic, then?”

“I think there’s beauty in it.” Solona ducked her head, suddenly shy and wishing that she grew her honey gold locks long enough to hide behind. “Gone in a flash, but in that one instance, it holds so much power. Lightning illuminates the sky, almost like someone is trying to paint it.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Cullen’s breath slipped past her ear, causing goosebumps to rise. Oh, Maker, she shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. Dalliances between templars and mages were forbidden. So were ones between mages for that matter, but First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir overlooked relationships that occurred, being of the opinion that happy mages were less likely to give in to the temptations of demons.

Grim and taciturn, Greagoir had been Knight-Commander of the templar forces stationed at Kinloch hold for so many years that hardly anyone except Irving recalled that he was not simply part of the tower itself.

Solona remembered when she first arrived. She had been young, about six or so. She’s been told she had been brought from Kirkwall, though no one had ever been explained why she was sent to Ferelden’s circle and not Kirkwall’s.

“It certainly is beautiful,” he said huskily.

Maker, she must have given him the appearance that she was waiting for him to say something. To be fair, Solona wanted nothing more than to listen to this man speak.

“I’ll leave you to it. Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” she agreed, hoping she hadn’t sounded too eager.

“Wait until I’m off duty to try that one. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of your spells.”

With a cheeky grin, Cullen retreated to the stone wall, taking up his post and briefly surveying the rest of the library and taking note of the mages within.

Solona slumped weakly in her seat. How could one man affect her so strongly?

* * *

Solona gasped awake when something covered her mouth. She thrashed against the hands holding her, but she stood no chance. Roughly, she was dragged out of her bed and through the apprentice quarters. She tried to crane her neck and get a look at who had grabbed her. She received a cuff to the head and a growled warning to keep her eyes forward.

She wondered if the basic healing spell she knew could do anything for her rapidly beating heart. As she was pushed through the unlit halls, Solona nearly worked herself into a full-blown panic. She couldn’t get her heart to slow down, nor prevent her thoughts from spiraling.

Kidnapping a mage from the tower? Right under the templar’s noses? She’d never heard of such a thing happening.

“You are to proceed through those doors.”

Belatedly, Solona realized her abductors had stopped before a set of large wooden doors. Two templars held them open, and she wanted to cry with relief.

She’d been brought to the top of the tower. Solona had never been above the third floor, as the fourth housed all the templars. Her terror was replaced with a sense of ease. While the delivery could use some work, she was finally about to undergo her Harrowing. And once she passed, she would be granted access to higher level magics. Though, she was disappointed that the Harrowings didn’t occur in the basement. She owed Jowan a favor now.

“Thank you for the escort, Ser Bran.” Solona dipped into a curtsey, not missing how one of the other men snorts, and strode through the doors.

Crossing the threshold stole the breath from her lungs. Not from anticipation or fear though. 

This chamber felt different. The Veil, the metaphysical barrier separating the Fade from the physical world, was thin. Thinner than the soup they had served at the evening meal. It had been more water than broth and its contents were soggy, gray, and indistinguishable. 

Solona was sensitive to the Fade. More so than most apprentices. It was why she was sent to the Circle at such a young age. Logically, she knew that the Veil was weaker in places that had seen lots of death or extensive use of magic. 

Never had she given any thought to the number of apprentices that must have passed through those doors. How many mages would have been put to the test over nine centuries? How many of those had failed, becoming a host for a demon and forcing the templars into bearing their blade?

Enough that she could actually sense the Veil. Solona raised a hand before her, half hoping that she could push against the Veil. Her arm passed through air. There was no ripple or any sign of the mysterious barrier. She blushed self-consciously, admonishing herself for expecting to be able to reach the other side. The Veil was thin, not broken. 

The doors snap shut behind her with a sense of foreboding, startling Solona back to attention. There was no time for her to dwell on the state of the Veil. Thin and prickling at her senses, she still had a Harrowing to undergo.

At the top of a flight of short, curved stairs were half a dozen templars, stationed around the circular room, as well as the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. To Greagoir’s immediate right were three more templars.

Cullen was the only one not wearing his helm. Her violet eyes met his, and she looked away with a flush, desperately pushing away the remnants of the dream she had before she was torn from her slumber.

Greagoir stepped forward as she approached, and she bites back the temptation to speak with him. “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.”

As it was, Solona couldn’t resist mouthing the words. The Knight-Commander’s left eye twitched, but Solona was more curious to see Cullen’s reaction. She was pleased to see the hand placed over his mouth, no doubt to hide his grin.

“Thus, spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it’s also a curse, for the demons of the dream realm—the Fade—are drawn to you, and seek to use you as gateway into this world.”

Irving moved to stand on her other side. “This is why the Harrowing exists,” he said gravely. “The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will.”

Unbidden, words spilled from her mouth. “What if I cannot defeat the demon?”

Solona already knew the answer, but Greagoir reminded her anyway. “It will turn you into an abomination and the templars will be forced to slay you.”

It took a supreme force of will to keep her attention on the Knight-Commander.

“This is lyrium,” he gestured towards the pedestal that was alight with the telltale soft blue shine of lyrium. “The very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade.”

Solona swallowed her fear, an act which did not go unnoticed.

“The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you.”

She relaxed at the First Enchanter’s show of confidence. Irving was a pleasant man, but he held no love for lies or coddling. He did everything in his power to ensure that mages were ready for this moment when it came. Solona had only witnessed one mage become Tranquil. It was a fate she would never wish for herself.

Irving believed in her, despite her young age. Solona knew of no mage before her that was Harrowed at nineteen. She would pass this test. Any other fate was unacceptable.

“Keep your wits about you,” Irving advised, “and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but her own will is real.”

“The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter.”

Solona was actually grateful for the commander’s interruption. In his efforts to prepare her, Irving was causing her anxiety to skyrocket. She much preferred simply being told that she must go into the Fade and confront a demon. She admired the straightforwardness of it, of having one singular goal to accomplish.

“If you are ready?”

“Do I really get a choice?” she jokingly asked, even as she moved toward the pedestal.

* * *

Solona’s first impression of the Fade was disappointing. Compared to her dreams, the clearing she finds herself in is a washed out, pale, sickly green color. Only her immediate surroundings are clear. Everything beyond her peripheral vision begins to stretch and blur indistinctly.

There’s a rather disturbing statue on the other side of the clearing. She can’t resist getting a closer look. At the elbow, both of its arms have transformed into something else entirely. Two more protrusions come up from the top of its skull. It’s rather detailed for something Solona hasn’t the faintest idea what it is. The expression on the face was one of shock, as if it had been caught off guard by the petrification.

The blonde shuddered. Having to match wills and wits against a demon was challenging enough. Now she couldn’t let her guard down for even a moment, or a spirit might transform her into a statue.

Ready to move on, Solona directed her attention towards the vase.

In every lecture she’s heard on the Fade, she’s been advised to examine everything. It was already difficult for the casual observer to tell the difference between the Fade and the creatures that lived within it, let alone between one type of spirit and another. In truth, there was little that distinguished them, even for the most astute mages. Since spirits were not physical entities, they weren’t restricted to recognizable forms, or even having a form at all. One could never tell for certain what was alive and what was merely part of the scenery in the Fade or a demon lying in wait.

It would be just Solona’s luck that the obvious creepy statue was a decoy and the real demon was the innocent looking vase ten feet to its right.

Upon inspection, however, she found three elfroot potions. She tucked them into her pocket, trying not to wonder how they came to be in the Fade.

The only path she sees leads down the hill. Conscious that she has a limited time to complete her Harrowing, Solona moved briskly. She literally got two feet down the hill before a wisp wraith hit her with a bolt of spirit energy. Solona quickly shook it off, firing back a spell of her own. One lightning bolt later and the wraith was vanquished.

She didn’t know how aware the templars and the First Enchanter would be about what occured in her Harrowing. On the off chance that they could track her performance, or at least magic use, Solona stuck to elemental spells. They’re safe, but powerful. Common. Once Harrowed, she could finally explore her connection to the Entropy tree without having to sneak into the library after curfew and constantly looking over her shoulder for a templar dashing off to report her alarming interest in the tree of debilitating magic.

Entropic spells sang to Solona when she cast them, but every mage in the tower knew the only reason Uldred had been permitted to specialize in Entropic spells was so apprentices would have an experienced mentor to learn under, hopefully cutting down on accidents, and more importantly, the chance of demonic possession. Apprentices, herself included, avoided the Entropy tree like it was Blighted to avoid drawing suspicion from their watchdogs. When the mage successfully passed her Harrowing, she would be a full-fledged member of the Circle, unable to be made Tranquil. With that safety net, Solona could finally explore the magic she wished to specialize in.

The trail curved upwards again. Solona meandered by broken (and possibly charred) columns and more weird cracked stone pillars. She zapped two more wraiths in quick succession. She was beginning to think the Fade might be affecting her when she spied a stone pillar that resembled a carrot, complete with pale orange colored protrusions that reminded her of crow’s feet.

The path continued to twist and weave, down the hill and around the corner. Solona seriously wondered if the Fade was naturally this confusing and how much of what she saw was influenced by her subconscious.

She would freely admit that she would have overlooked the mouse if it hadn’t started talking.

“Someone else thrown to the wolves. As fresh and unprepared as ever. It isn’t right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone.”

Solona didn't think she’d ever been quite so surprised. Nothing in her years at the tower had prepared her for a demon in the shape of a mouse. But was it truly a demon, she wondered. She always imagined she would be able to sense one, that demons would give off this aura that screamed their true nature. Aside from the fact that it talked, she found nothing abnormal about the creature before her.

“You’re a talking rat.”

The rat scoffed. “You think you’re really here? In that body? You only look like that because you **think** you do!” Solona tried to imagine herself as a dragon and was disappointed when nothing happened. Unaware of her lapse in attention, the mouse continued. “It’s always the same. But it’s not your fault. You’re in the same boat I was, aren’t you?”

In a flash of light, the mouse was replaced with the form of a rather harrowed looking man.

“Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me . . . well, Mouse.”

Solona shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was. Nonetheless, the only thing she could think to say was: “You can change your shape?”

Idly, she wondered if Mouse would be willing to teach her, because even if it was only within the Fade, turning into a dragon would be sweet. Solona slapped her hands to her cheeks, ignoring the confused look the action garnered from Mouse. She still had no proof he wasn’t a demon. She shouldn’t be thinking about learning from it.

“Like I said,” Mouse soldiered on, “in this place, you are what you perceive yourself to be. I think I used to be like you . . . before. The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don’t want something getting out. That’s what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim. And you don’t have much time before you end up the same.”

Fear gripped her heart. Solona had no way in which to measure the passage of time in the Fade. Could the templars have already slain her, for fear of possession?

“How long do I have, exactly?”

Mouse hesitated as he answered. “I . . . don’t remember. I ran away and hid. I don’t know how long.”

“That’s not going to happen to me.” If she dies it will be because she failed. Not because she ran and hid like a coward.

Mouse shook his head, sympathetically. “That’s been said before. But you don’t know the danger. There’s something here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can.

“That’s your way out. Or your opponent’s, if the templars wouldn’t kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade.”

Solona’s eyes narrowed as she studied the supposed mage, suspicion rising when he contradicted himself. How does the man who hid from his trial know what the Harrowing consists of?

Putting on an air of confidence, Solona claimed to not understand why the test is so feared. They had been trained since admittance to the tower on how to resist the corruption of demons.

“You would be a fool to attack everything you see. What you face is powerful, cunning.” So, her demon wasn’t going to jump her or look like a demon. Well, she supposed it would be too easy to pass otherwise. “There are others here, other spirits. They will tell you more, maybe help. If you can believe anything you see,” his finished ominously.

Solona stared at him for a moment, as he appeared to be debating whether or not to say something more. “I’ll follow, if that’s all right. My chance was long ago, but you . . . you may have a way out.”

There’s a niggling thought at the back of her mind. This Mouse character is more than he’s revealed himself to be. It may not be entirely safe to have him come with her, but Solona thought it would be infinitely more dangerous to lose track of this Fade spirit.

“A dangerous spirit is not far. Don’t go near it unless you are prepared to fight,” Mouse warned.

Solona pressed forward, drawn towards the clearing where billows of smoke rose. Fifteen patches of fire burned with no apparent source, arranged in a half circle. Solona was uneasily reminded of an arena. She gave a wide berth to the rock formation that appeared to be a raw lyrium vein. She knows how dangerous lyrium is in that form, and given that she is in the Fade, it was almost certainly a trap.

“This is where the test will take place. The demon isn’t always here, but this is where he manifests.”

The mage tucked that knowledge away, wondering just what this spirit’s purpose was. If every mage had a guide when they completed their Harrowing, the test really shouldn’t be feared at all. So far, she’d encountered nothing more dangerous than a wisp.

“It is dangerous to be out in the open like this. Not that hiding helps much in the Fade.”

“How have you survived here so long?” Solona queried.

“I missed my chance,” Mouse said in lieu of a real answer, “so I became small. Unnoticeable. I hide from the bigger things, learn from the smaller things. There are places you can hide where the shadows go on forever. You stay there long enough, and the shadows begin to creep inside of you. I . . . don’t know how long it’s been. Forever, maybe.”

Mouse had built himself up to a full-blown rant. “The templars are sadistic bastards. Everyone must face the Harrowing because there’s a small chance a mage **might** become possessed and become an abomination. Thrown to the mercy of a demon when you’re at your weakest. ‘For the safety of all.’”

The female mage frowned as Mouse continued to rave about the injustice of the Harrowing and how it was handled, about templars that would never see the people behind the magic, killing them for learning more than they should.

Was Mouse a physical representation of her subconscious, giving voice to the fears and doubts she never wanted to consider, afraid of the implications?

She had grown up in the Circle Tower. Tensions was the way of life amongst the higher ranked inhabitants. Solona got on well enough with the templars, though that wasn’t true for every apprentice. But she had always chalked up their gossips and rumors as simply that; fanciful lies spun between friends to distract themselves from a task they found weary.

The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter were careful to get along in the eyesight of their subordinates, but Solona had once overheard an argument between them. Irving had been protesting Greagoir’s abuse of authority to make one of his mages Tranquil.

Had her own mind created Mouse? A reminder that she shouldn’t dally?

“You don’t want to lose yourself here. Being nothing would be easier than this. I . . . think you should finish your Harrowing.”

Whatever Mouse’s truth was, he made a point. Solona couldn’t afford to linger.

* * *

Her path continued to weave through the Fade. The further Solona progressed, the less resemblance she saw to reality.

Another two wisp wraiths fell to her lightning. She had just dealt with the second one and was pulling three more health potions from the bottom of another vase when Mouse put her on guard, informing her of a nearby spirit.

“Another spirit this way. It never seemed equal to its name to me.”

Solona studied the newest spirit with a critical eye. It looked like a spirit should. Or at least how she imagined one should. It was man wearing templar armor, of all things, made entirely of white light. She was more intrigued by what appeared to be physical—spiritual?—weapons behind him.

“Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see,” it said as she approached. “Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better that you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, than to be sent unarmed against a demon.”

The mage was certain that she would never see anything so ironic as a templar besmirching the Harrowing and actively arguing for mages to fight so long as she lived. Although it would have been nice if she had been given a simple wooden staff before she was tossed into the Fade. It was much less taxing to shape mana when the staff acted as a focus.

“You know why I am here?” she asked.

“You are not the first sent here for such testing. Nor shall you be the last I suspect.”

Alarm bells went off in Solona’s head. The spirit, and Mouse, implied that every mage that has ever undergone the Harrowing had come to the same exact spot. Given the vastness of the Fade, she found that hard to accept. Somehow, that pedestal that had been in the Harrowing chamber must connect to this one area of the Fade. It meant that every aspect of her trial was being controlled from the outside. The two spirits she had come across served a specific purpose.

Based on what little he had said already, Solona surmised that this templar spirit was a test. He would try to persuade her that it was foolish to fight a demon unarmed.

But in doing so, the spirit overlooked her very nature. As a mage, she was never unarmed. She didn’t need a sword in order to lop off a demon’s head.

“That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come.”

Since the spirit seemed to be in a helpful mood, Solona decided it couldn’t hurt to ask it more questions.

“What else do you know about the Harrowing?”

“Is that what your test is called?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “I know little of your mortal ways. I do know that a demon has been called and told that a meal awaits.”

Solona dry swallowed. While that confirmed her suspicions about the templars arranging the pieces in the Fade much like pawns on a chessboard, it was unnerving to learn that they practically handed the mages to demons on silver platters.

“It will not, **cannot** leave,” the spirit corrected itself, “until one of you is dead.”

Perhaps there was no time limit, if the templars had bound a demon to this part of the Fade. Maybe they simply waited, vigilant, for mage or demon to overpower the other.

But if that was true, what did that make Mouse’s spirit? Speaking of . . .

“What kind of spirit are you?”

“I am Valor, a warrior spirit. I hone my weapons in search of the perfect expression of combat.”

Solona pointed to the two hazy weapon racks behind him. “Did you create all of these weapons?”

“They are brought into being by my will,” explained Valor. “I understand that in your world, mages are the only ones that bring things into being.”

Well, that was a polite way of describing a mage’s ability to rain down fireballs.

The spirit lamented. “Those mortals that cannot must lead such hollow, empty lives.”

“That would be the Tranquil,” Solona shot back, unthinking. Most mages bemoaned their gift. She had always hated how they let the words of a woman long dead convince them that they were born with magic as a punishment. Andraste had fought against Tevinter, which to this day still brazenly used blood magic. Mages brought to the tower had a chance to do amazing things. Magic was capable of so much, and so many squandered it, afraid, when they needed to embrace it.

“Would one of those weapons affect a demon?” Solona asked, returning to reason she had chosen to approach Valor. If he was willing to part with a staff, she would stand a much better chance against whatever demon had been summoned to devour her.

Valor seemed amused by her question. “Without a doubt. In this realm, everything that exists is an expression of thought. Do you think these blades be steel? These staves be wood? Do you believe they draw blood? A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that reality.”

His eyes peered at her through the slit in his helmet. Solona tried not to fidget as the being judged her. “Do you truly desire one of my weapons? I will give one to you--”

“Really?” That was easier than she expected.

“If you agree to duel me, first. Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested.”

And there was the catch. She supposed it was too much to ask for that the templars called forth altruistic spirits. “And what are the rules of this duel?”

“If I believe you are capable of slaying the demon, I will stop the duel and give you the staff. If I find you unworthy, I will slay you. I trust those rules are simple enough to remember, mortal?”

Succeed or die. It was like a mini-Harrowing.

“I agree to your duel, Valor.”

“As you wish, mortal. Our duel begins now. Fight with Valor!”

Did the spirit just crack a joke?

Preoccupied by the probably unintentional pun, Solona narrowly avoided the gleaming spirit sword swung at her head. It didn’t look dangerous, admittedly, but if Valor’s will made it real, she definitely did not want to get hit. She ducked under his arm, thrusting both hands forward. An arcane bolt crackled to life between her spread palms and smacked right into the spirit’s chest plate.

Valor staggered back briefly but regained his equilibrium and came at her again. This time, she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the blow. Later, she would marvel at how the resulting pain had felt real, even though there was nary a mark on her. As it was, Solona hastened backwards, firing off a lightning bolt to prevent her opponent from following.

The lightning spell seemed to have more of an effect on the spirit. Valor had brushed off the spirit energy she had originally zapped him with. Solona charged up another lightning spell, calling upon all of her mana so that it would really pack a punch. She held no illusions about her ability to win this fight. Pitting a mage against a templar spirit was vastly unfair. Solona had no fighting abilities to speak of. But maybe, if she showed enough tenacity, Valor would call an end to the duel in her favor.

The spirit grunted when her spell struck home. “Enough. Your strength is sufficient to the task. The staff is yours.”

“Will it stay with me when I leave the Fade?” Her hands caressed the length of the wood. Soon, she would have one to call her own.

“I suspect not.”

“Is there anything else you could do to help me?”

“Short of battling the demon for you?” Wasn’t that a thought? “No. May you find glory in all your achievements mortal.”

Solona thanked the spirit for his help. Armed with a staff, she now stood a better chance against her demon. “Where to next, Mouse?” she asked the spirit at her feet.

The former mage directed her deeper into the Fade. Staff in hand, she made quick work of the pack of spirit wolves that ambushed her.

“Be cautious. There is another spirit here,” Mouse announced once she was finished. “Not the one hunting you but still—“

The rest of Mouse’s warning was cut off by a late comer to the party. The ethereal-esque spirit wolf howled behind her, teeth bared as it charged. Solona dispatched the beast with a sharp blow of her staff.

Confident that all the wolves had been dealt with, the female mage strode forward, ready to conquer the next spirit’s test. Only, the next spirit wasn’t a spirit at all. It was a demon.

It looked like a bear, though Solona wondered if bears were really as large as this demon. If so, she hoped never to meet one. Numerous bony spikes grew outward from the skin. Blood still dripped as if they were fresh wounds. The blood, the spikes, and the areas without skin all made for a gruesome picture. Silently, she cursed Mouse for telling her that her perception affected the Fade. Without that tidbit, she probably wouldn’t be smelling rotting flesh.

Solona couldn’t ever imagine letting such a thing inside her body.

The beast didn’t even deign to uncurl its head from atop its paws as it spoke. “Hmm . . . so you are the mortal being hunted? And the small one . . . is he to be a snack for me?”

The lethargic manner in which it spoke allowed Solona to identify it as a sloth demon. Should she consider herself lucky for stumbling upon the one kind of demon not likely to fight for possession of her body, or tremble because sloth demons were masters of words? The demon before her was much more likely to seduce her with carefully chosen words to prey on her fears.

Mouse resumed his human form, probably so his fearful face wouldn’t be missed. “I don’t like this. He isn’t going to help us. We should go . . .”

The demon scoffed. “No matter. The demon will get you eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left.”

Contrary to his words, the hulking bereskarn gained his feet.

“What kind of spirit are you?”

“It’s a demon. Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you.” Mouse gave her a disparaging look, like he couldn’t fathom her inability to tell the difference between a spirit and a demon, which was odd because he had originally labeled it a spirit.

Then this one would make wonderful practice, she thought.

“Begone. Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already.” The demon shaped bear settled itself on the ground once more.

Curiosity got the better of her. Solona prayed to the Maker that those monitoring her Harrowing couldn’t actually see what was happening. They would kill her on sight if they knew she was willingly conversing with a demon. “Why are you called Sloth? What are you?”

“I am a spirit of Sloth, a creature of the Fade . . . unlike yourself. Mortals are ever the visitors here. Still, you serve your function. Only mortals like yourself are truly annoying.”

Solona can’t help but feel affronted. A demon that couldn’t even bother to look at her while they conversed had insulted her. “Mortals like me?”

“You are . . . aware. A mortal with power and will. The sort of creature that some spirits . . . hunger for. I might be inclined for such a meal, myself. It would be interesting to see the mortal world through your eyes, live inside your form . . . but I am disinclined to begin such a struggle.”

No one could deny that the demon lived up to its name. “Lucky me.”

“Indeed. Now, what do you want with me?”

“I need help defeating the demon,” she stated. Could she earn another advantage for her upcoming battle by passing this demon's test?

“You have a very nice staff,” Sloth yawned. “Why would you need me? Go, use your weapon since you have earned it. Be valorous.”

“He looks powerful,” Mouse whispered. “It might be possible he could . . . teach you to be like him.”

Solona shot him a narrowed look. That sounded too much like Mouse wanted her to make a deal with the demon. It was an unexpected change of tune from just moments previous where he was all but backpedaling away from Sloth.

“Like me?” the demon repeated, shocked. “You mean teach the mortal to take this form? Why? Most mortals are too attached to their forms to change.”

Bizarre as the circumstances are, she agreed with the demon. She had no desire to shapeshift like Mouse does. Unless turning into a dragon was still an option. It wasn’t practical. The tower’s wards prevented animals from entering. Rats, birds, nothing got through. Except for spiders. Those creepy crawlers bred like nugs. Solona was forever finding one in her bedspread. 

Not to mention, if she came out of the Harrowing with an ability she didn’t have previously, the templars would waste no time cutting her down.

“You on the other hand, little one, might be a better student,” suggested Sloth. “You let go of the human form years ago.”

“I . . . don’t think I would make a very good bear. How would I hide?” Mouse prevaricated.

How quick the former mage donned his stripes. Solona was growing weary of Mouse’s lies and deceptions. He was supposed to be helping her. “Hiding doesn’t solve anything. We need to face our fears.”

“ **We?** I have faced more in this place than you can imagine. Fear . . . is just one more thing. But, you are right. Hiding doesn’t help,” Mouse admitted, shamed. “I’m sorry. It’s the Fade. It changes you. I’ll try. I’ll try to be a bear, if you’ll teach me.”

“Hmm, that’s nice.” Sloth yawned for the umpteenth time. “But teaching is so exhausting. Away with you now.”

“I told you he wasn’t going to help us.” Mouse’s scorn was palpable.

Solona felt cheated. Even though she wasn’t supposed to be making deals with demons, it wasn’t fair that he made an offer and didn’t follow through. “You can’t not teach Mouse when you’re the one that suggested it.”

“I can’t?” the demon slurred, distinctly amused. “You have so much to learn about the Fade, little mortal.”

The blonde gritted her teeth. She never wanted to set foot in the Fade like this again.

“You wish to learn my form, little one? Then I have a challenge for your friend. Answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach you. Fail, and I will devour you both. The decision is yours.”

Solona got the feeling that all creatures of the Fade were fond of ultimatums. This time, however, the mage was confident she could meet the challenge.

“Very well. Tell me your riddles.”

“Truly? This gets more and more promising. The first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?” posed Sloth.

“A map.” Her answer was immediate.

“Correct,” the creature grumbled. “Let’s move on. The second riddle: I am rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you’ll use me well. What am I?”

Too easy. “A tongue.”

“Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try, shall we? Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I’ll amuse you an entire eve, but alas, you won’t remember me. What am I?”

“A dream.”

“You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no? But you have won my challenge and proved yourself an amusing distraction. So, I shall teach you my form. Now, listen carefully.”

Solona watched on, silent, as the demon explained how to become a bear to Mouse. “Like this? Am I a bear? It feels . . . heavy.”

“Close enough.” The Sloth demon shut its eyes. “Go, then, and defeat your demon . . . or whatever you intend to do. I grow weary of your mortal prattling.”

Quickly, she retreated the way she came. Any longer and she might find herself taking a nap as well.

“Come, Mouse. Let’s not waste any more time. I have a demon to confront.” Solona had grown weary of the Fade and its denizens.

* * *

In bear form, Mouse lumbered ahead, leading her back towards the fire-ringed arena established for her battle. An uneasy feeling crept down her spine as they traveled. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. Something about the test just didn’t feel right.

For a test that was supposed to be fearsomely difficult to pass, Solona had had an easy time of it.

She hadn’t been immediately jumped by a demon as soon as she entered the Fade. Instead, she stumbled across Mouse, who was very knowledgeable about both the dream realm and her test. Mouse had also directed her towards two other inhabitants of the Fade, both of which, with the right persuasion, had agreed to help her defeat her demon.

If this was one of the fantasy novels she secretly adored, Mouse would be a plant. Sent to play on her sympathies, only to turn around and stab her in the back because he was the demon hunting her. He knew too much about what exactly she needed to do to not be some kind of trick.

Solona faltered, mechanically waving off Mouse’s concern by telling him they needed to hurry.  
Mouse was the demon she needed to fight. He hadn’t entered the arena earlier, just hovered on the edge to warn her that was where the demon would appear. His weak and spineless attitude was a façade to catch her unprepared.

And to think she had matched wits with a demon to help Mouse become stronger!

So, imagine her surprise to see a Rage demon awaiting her.

The senior enchanters’ descriptions failed to capture the demon’s true unnaturalness. The Rage demon was a thing of pure fire, its body seemingly made of amorphous lava and its eyes two pinpricks of baleful light radiating from its core.

Solona briefly regretted not looking up any ice spells.

“And so it comes to me at last.” The demon drew itself up to its full height. “Soon, I shall see the land of the living through your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul.”

Gripping the staff so tightly her knuckles turned white, the mage angled it in front of her defensively.

“It’s two against one. You really want to fight us both?” She asked, hoping her words sounded stronger than she felt.

The demon tossed its head, unnervingly drawing attention to its lack of a mouth. “Amusing. Have you not told it of our . . . arrangement, Mouse?”

If the situation hadn’t just turned into Solona having to face two demons, she would have gloated that she had already figured out Mouse’s game. The Rage demon’s dramatic reveal wasn’t a shock.

“We don’t have an arrangement!” Mouse shouted, fiercely. “Not anymore!”

“Aww. And after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now suddenly the Mouse has changed the rules?”

Belatedly, Solona realized she didn’t know what kind of demon Mouse was, aside from higher up in the chain than the Rage demon. Hunger perhaps, given the reference to shared meals?

“I’m not a mouse now!” Except in behavior, Solona thought. A little gratitude for the bear shape before he tried to eat her would have been appreciated. “And soon I won’t have to hide! I don’t need to bargain with you.”

Solona reevaluated her conclusion. Mouse was probably a really weak Desire demon if he needed the Rage demon’s help to survive.

“We shall see . . .”

The Rage demon summoned four wisp wraiths. Their lightning zaps were more annoying than anything, because they barely hurt her. But, since Mouse had engaged the Rage demon, Solona focused her attention on quickly eliminating the wisps.

A minute later she was able to jump in and help Mouse. Solona thrust her staff forward and a stream of lightning burst from the tip. The spell widened as it traveled from her, catching both the Rage demon and Mouse.

The demon turned white, dissipating.

Mouse dropped his bear form in favor of his natural image. “You did it. You actually did it! When you came, I hoped that you might be able to . . . but I never really thought any of you were worthy.”

There went any sense of comradery she had had with this Fade creature. The idea that mages before her had been killed because this . . . loathsome coward determined them to be unworthy didn’t sit well with her.

“The ones you betrayed before me. What were their names?” Solona was enraged. Was it anyone she had known?

“Wha-?” Mouse looked at her in disbelief. “They were not as promising as you.”

“And that means they don’t deserve to be remembered?! That they deserved to be fed to a demon?”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember their names. I don’t even remember my own name. It’s the Fade. And the templars killing me, like they tried with you.”

Solona couldn’t listen to any more excuses. “The templars haven’t tried to kill me. They don’t put a mage through their Harrowing to kill them. It’s a sign of respect for our dedication, will, and constraint. They believe in every mage they send here. That we can resist your temptations and poisonous words. You’re the real monster here. Pretending to help mages only to lure them to their deaths! Anything to survive. Like an animal. Or worse.”

Mouse shrugged off her righteous fury. “You defeated a demon. You completed your test. With time, you will be a master enchanter with no equal. And maybe there’s hope in that for someone as small and forgotten as me. If you want to help, there may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in.”

“And so my true test begins.” Solona grinned, savagely.

Mouse crossed his arms defensively. “What? What do you mean? Of course, that was your test. What else is here that could harm an apprentice of your potential?”

She found it amusing how Mouse believed he could continue to feed her lines from his script. But he must have realized how weak that last bit of nugshit sounded, for he gave a low chuckle.

“You are a smart one.” His voice took on that deep demonic tone as he continued. “Simple killing is a warrior’s job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust. Pride.”

Slack jawed, Solona stared as Mouse more than doubled in size, revealing the monstrous form of a Pride demon.

“Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end.”

Ominous warning delivered, Mouse vanished. The Fade turned black, and Solona knew no more.


	3. The corrupt and the wicked

“So, the Hero of Ferelden made deals with demons. And encouraged such recklessness in the mages of Kirkwall. To what end?” Cassandra pressed. “You said yourself she understood the necessity of templars. Why the change of heart?”

“I said no such thing, Seeker. Yes, the Hero conversed with spirits and demons. Played their games. But not when it counted. She never gave into one of them.”

“It matters not,” the Seeker said, insistently. “That she was even willing to speak with them explains why she did not prevent that mage’s actions.

Varric braced an elbow on the arm of his chair. “You’re getting ahead of yourself there, Seeker. The Hero hasn’t even stepped foot outside her gilded cage yet.”

* * *

**17 Haring, 9:30 Dragon**

Muttering tones filtered through the haze of sleep. “Did you hear what happened last night?”

Groggy, Solona opened her eyes to the high cathedral ceiling of the apprentice quarters. She laid in bed a moment. Her Harrowing. She could have sworn . . . had it all been a dream? Disappointment swelled in her chest.

“Are you all right? Say something, please . . .”

It took embarrassingly long to realize those words were directed at her.

Solona rolled her head to the side. The rest of her body felt too heavy to move. Jowan, her best friend, stood there, concern written in every line of his face.

“Jowan?”

Her voice was hoarse, but he visibly relaxed at the sound. “I’m glad you’re all right. They carried you in this morning. I didn’t even realize you had been gone all night. I’ve heard about apprentices that never come back from Harrowings.”

Solona flinched at the unpleasant reminder of Mouse. Jowan’s concern resurfaced, only easing when she moved to sit up.

“Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?”

The honey haired mage didn’t begrudge Jowan his curiosity, but she knew better than to reveal the truth of the Harrowing. Angered though she was at Mouse’s deception, Solona was certain a worse fate awaited those that unveiled the graduation test’s secrets.

“It was a test of ability—that’s all.”

If she repeated it enough, she might even come to believe it herself.

Jowan shook his head, disbelieving. “There must be something more, or they’d tell the apprentices what’s involved. I know I’m not supposed to know . . . but we’re friends. Just a little hint, and I’ll stop asking, I promise!”

Her gaze dropped to her lap. Jowan’s cajoling wouldn’t normally affect her, but Mouse’s betrayal was too fresh. It would be too easy to tell him he won their bet, but even letting him know that much could be disastrous. Knowing that she could prevent his death if she just told him was torture. But Solona feared the consequences she would incur.

“Patience. You’ll go through it soon enough.” Empty platitudes were all Solona could offer. Jowan turned away from her, clearly disappointed that she was choosing the establishment over him.

“And now you get to move into the nice mages’ quarters upstairs. I’m stuck here and I don’t know when they’ll call me for _my_ Harrowing.”

“They’ll summon you to the test when you are ready.”

Solona was an unusual case, and the whole tower knew it. She was Harrowed so early out of necessity. At nineteen, her magical coils were on par with those of the senior enchanters. Waiting a few more years, as was standard, left her open to the influence of demons too long. Despite how Harrowed mages were considered less at risk, the templars preferred to have larger numbers of the apprentices. With them, they could act with impunity. No one questioned when a shaky-legged apprentice was escorted back to their quarters after a smite. Greagoir and Irving fought often over the lack of punishment for templars that smited a Harrowed mage without due cause.

Temptation. It was the bottom line. Demons sensed magical power across the Veil, drawn to those that housed it like moths to flame.

Knowing how mages were brought to their Harrowings, Solona couldn’t wait for Jowan’s turn. His tendency for dramatics would make his reaction amusing.

“I’ve been here longer than you have . . . Sometimes I think they just don’t want to test me.”

Only the foresight that it would result in more whining had Solona holding her tongue. Jowan had arrived at the tower five months before her at the age of ten. Granted, he was three years older than her, but given that he wasn’t the most studious of mages, it was unsurprising he had yet to be summoned for his test. It wasn’t like they marked the day each white-faced and wide-eyed child was escorted to the Circle and dragged them from their bed on the ten year anniversary of their arrival. But she knew any advice to buckle down would go in one ear and out the other.

“Doesn’t everyone go through a Harrowing?”

“The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing.” Solona winced at the deserved sarcastic barb. “You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility . . . or you die. That’s what happens.”

Solona reached out, then retreated. The last thing she would want in his position was to be coddled. “They’re not going to kill you, Jowan.”

“They might not. But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad. Maybe worse. You’ve seen the Tranquil around the tower. Like Owain, he runs the stockroom. He’s so cold. No, not even cold. There’s just . . . nothing in him. It’s like he’s dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless . . .”

Jowan trailed off. Solona shuddered, infinitely glad to have passed her Harrowing and thus been spared the fate of a Tranquil. Death was still an option, she supposed, but she wasn’t foolish enough to dabble in blood magic.

“I think you’re reading too much into it. It’ll be your turn soon, you’ll see.”

He was silent for a moment. A shake of the head as if to remove unwanted thoughts followed. “Anyways, I shouldn’t waste your time with this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up.”

“What for?” Solona prayed once more that the details of her Harrowing were known only to her. It would be cruel for them to bring her back to her bed only to kill her because she hadn’t killed every being she had encountered on sight.

“He didn’t tell me. About the Harrowing, I’d guess, but you never know with Irving,” he ventured. “You better not keep him waiting. We can speak later.”

Solona wasn’t aware the First Enchanter was waiting on her, she thought uncharitably at his retreating back. Though he’d hardly be able to tell she had spent the last ten minutes discussing the test she wasn’t allowed to disclose.

She dug through the trunk at the end of her bed in search of clean robes. They would be identical to the set she wore last night—why was it that mage robes lack imagination?—but they would at the very least be clean and unrumpled.

“Did you hear anything? Is she all right? Is she awake?”

“Why do you care? Are you best friends now?”

Solona paused in her efforts. She didn’t recognize either voice, but they could only be talking about her.

“I’m just curious,” the first woman defended. “That templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he’d ever seen.”

Solona flushed at the indirect praise. Was her performance truly that impressive?

“He says she’s very talented and very brave.”

“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Was that jealousy?

“I just know I’ll be terrified when my turn comes. Like Wendall was. He’d throw up every day for the next week just thinking about it.”

Solona resumed her search for clean robes now that their gossip had turned away from her. Once dressed, she quickly made her way to Irving’s office. Apparently, everyone and their mother was talking about her Harrowing. She was stopped several times and offered congratulations, from mages and templars alike. The only person not giving her special treatment was Senior Enchanter Sweeney, but only because he apparently couldn’t keep all the apprentices’ names straight.

A wide berth was given to the apprentice trying to cast fire magic in the middle of the library. His mentor certainly inspired no little amount of confidence. and Solona didn’t sympathize for the lackluster results. She certainly wouldn’t want the reputation of being the mage that set a section of the library on fire. She couldn’t help but overhear Niall and Senior Enchanter Torrin discussing the various political groups of mages, if they could even be called that. More like like-minded people giving themselves a fancy name that expressed their desires for their futures.

“Hello. Congratulations on your Harrowing last night. Good work.”

Solona ducked her head in acknowledgement. “Could you tell me more about the Fraternities?”

She wanted to know more. The templars were very careful to restrict their contact with the world outside the Circle. Even Harrowed mages weren’t permitted to leave the tower unless on official business.

“Oh, the Fraternities,” he responded, drained. Solona gathered she wasn’t the first person to ask him this question. “Groups of mages with a common agenda, banding together to make their voices heard. They’re found in all the Circles throughout Thedas.

“The most influential are the Aequitarians. They’re moderates and believe in a code of conduct that all mages should adhere to. Then there are the Chantry apologists, the Loyalists. The Chantry says something and they follow it to the letter. The Lucrosians just want to make money, and the Isolationists would like us all to be hermits and live on an island.”

Which was any different from how they lived now, how? There would always be Chantry oversight. Someone needed to slay those that became abominations.

“Then, of course, there are the Libertarians. They want more power for the Circle, more autonomy,” Torrin summarized.

“I think we should all be Isolationists,” interjected Niall. “Move to some remote mountain town, far away from the mundanes who hate us. I’d go live alone in the Wilds if I could. But you know they’d just brand me an apostate and hunt me down. There is no leaving the Circle. It’s till death do us part. Romantic, isn’t it?”

The female mage rolled her eyes. Isolation served no purpose. Mages would always be feared if they refused to step forward and prove that their magic could serve man, not just harm him. Honestly, the chances of meeting one blood mage in your life was slim. Retreating from peoples’ fears would only prove them right in having them. She only hoped that Niall wasn’t spreading the label mundane amongst the other apprentices. Looking upon them as lesser for not having magic was not the way to abate their fears of magic.

“It’s best not to get involved in Circle politics. More trouble than it’s worth, really.”

“Which do you belong to?” she asked.

“Ha! If I had to I’d say I was an Aequitarian. But I ducked out of the fray a long time ago. Most of the senior enchanters are Aequitarians: Irving, Wynne, Sweeney. Uldred’s a Libertarian, and a loud one at that.” He sighed heavily. “Mages have enough opposition from the outside without tearing our Circles apart with in-fighting. But what can you do?”

“Giving up doesn’t help anyone.” Solona believed, wholeheartedly, that the tensions between mages and templars didn’t have to be. With a little effort and understanding, it was possible to call them friends. Like her and Cullen.

“An idealist, I see. Well, if you’re going to change the world, you should get started immediately. Lots of world to cover.

Solona spun on her heel, reading the clear dismissal. She didn’t have to change the world. Just their opinions.

In her haste to get away, she accidently turned into a guest room.

“Oh, excuse me! I didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry. I’m terribly busy right now. I have to prepare the room before the Grey Warden is done at his meeting with Irving.”

Solona’s heart skipped a beat. “There’s a Grey Warden here?” Was this why he had summoned her? To offer her the opportunity to join the Grey Wardens?

“Yes. Duncan, his name is. He must be here to talk to Irving about something important,” the other mage elaborated. “You know, I almost became a Grey Warden once.”

“Really?” was her skeptical response. She couldn’t imagine this wizened man as a legendary Grey Warden.

“There were several of us chosen, though the Grey Wardens only wanted one recruit—they only ever have one mage, you see . . . I think they thought I was the best candidate, but I was young and foolish and I said I wasn’t interested. They picked someone else instead, and that was that. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Solona wasn’t going to turn down Duncan if he was here for her.

“Ah, well, I should get back to my work.”

Solona was determined to reach Irving’s office quickly, now that she had a sense of what awaited her, but she spotted Cullen posted outside one of the senior mages’ quarters. The two gossiping mages’ words from earlier, calling her brave and talented, returned to her, causing her cheeks to burn. What she wouldn’t give to hear them directly from Cullen’s mouth.

“Good morning, Ser Cullen,” she greeted.

“Oh, um, h-hello. I . . . uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly.”

“Why are you stuttering?” She had never heard him stutter in the two years since he’d been here.

“What? I-I’m fine,” he protested. “I . . .uh, I’m just glad you’re all right. You know.”

Solona bit the inside of her cheek. If she giggled now, he’d probably think she was laughing at him. She was, sort of, but only because she had never seen him so flustered.

“I knew I wouldn’t fail my Harrowing.” It was easier to say after the fact, but Solona had never hid her confidence in her abilities. It earned her a significant amount of jealousy and nasty comments from the other apprentices. “I defeated the demons with the Shock spell. You know, the one I showed you yesterday.”

Cullen’s adorable fluster fled, concern washing across the planes of his face. “Demons? There’s only ever supposed to be one.”

Solona blinked at him. His confusion sounded genuine. Whatever Mouse was, he didn’t appear to be a cunning trap laid by the templars. Still, the details of the Harrowing had to be kept hushed. “I can’t tell you.”

“You can speak of it with me. As long as you don’t share anything with the apprentices, it’s fine.”

The mage worried her lip. She liked Cullen. A lot. And she trusted him. Cullen was a proud templar, firm in his belief that he was protecting the mages as well as the magic-less populace. He was nothing like some of the close-minded templars who were more comparable to Chantry attack dogs.

“Very well,” she agreed, softly, and explained how she had encountered demons of Sloth, Rage, and Pride.

“Maker’s breath,” the man intoned. “Three demons. I thought your performance was impressive when I believed there to be only one. How did you deal with the Pride demon? We would never set up an apprentice with the strongest demon, not even one as talented as you.”

Solona wondered if he could hear how loud her heart was beating at the casual way he kept complimenting her magical prowess. “The Rage demon insinuated it and Mouse had a deal, to trick and consume the mages. It seemed that the Rage demon had offered to share its meals if Mouse would lure the mages to it. But it turned out Mouse had orchestrated it all.

“I pushed him. Mouse had felt out of place the entire time, and the Rage demon had just cemented my suspicions. Then Mouse dropped all pretenses, transformed into a Pride demon, and vanished. You won’t tell anyone that I listened to a demon?” She peered at Cullen through her lashes.

“No, I would never,” he vowed. “Demons are dangerous because they tell you the truth you want to hear. But you didn’t listen to it. Either of them. You didn’t let them in.”

Solona released the breath she had unconsciously held. “Thank you.”

“You’ve always been so confident.” He hesitated. “I’ve heard of failed Harrowings. The consequences were . . . unpleasant.”

“Would you truly have struck me down?” Solona regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.

“I would have felt terrible about it,” he admitted, and oddly that eased her heart. “But . . . I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded.”

She could appreciate his commitment and his honesty. As well as the cut of his jaw when he tried to look solemn. Cullen’s cheeks still had a slight roundness to them and were steadily darkening to the shade of a currant.

“Yes, I suppose, then, I shouldn’t be distracting you from your duties,” Solona said, lightly.

“Oh, you’re not distracting. I mean you are, but . . . well, you’re not. You’re good. A good distraction, I mean. I mean, you can talk to me any time, if you want. I like talking to you.”

“Well talk later then? In the library,” she suggested.

“Uh, yes, we can talk another time. You can come and talk to me any time you like,” he repeated, red spreading across the bridge of his nose, and Solona could have shimmied if suddenly breaking out into dance wouldn’t have been embarrassing. Cullen was too nice to everybody. For the longest time, she thought that must be the case with her, because all of their little flirtations never developed into something more. Seeing him babble and stumbling over his tongue reassured the mage that he would likely react positively if she approached him about having some fun in the near future.

Solona didn’t really hear what excuse Cullen gave as he quickly retreated into the bowels of the tower. Her eyes were focused on the shape of his ass, since the lower half of the templar uniform was a purple skirt layered over chainmail. For armor, it was surprisingly form fitting. And, consequently, all she could think about was how soft the flesh would feel beneath her fingers.

She slapped her hands to her cheeks to snap her from her fantasies. Daydreaming about her favorite templar's skills in bed was distracting Solona from her task. She was already running for a meeting with Irving.

Inexplicably, she paused just outside the tower’s Chantry. Solona hardly counted herself as Andrastian, for all that she invoked the Maker when things went sideways, but perhaps a few words of thanks and a fervent prayer wouldn’t go amiss.

Briskly, she crossed the room to the altar to offer a prayer. May the Maker continue to preserve her from demonic influence and provide her with opportunities to prove herself more than the magic she wielded.

“Blessed art thou who exist in the sight of the Maker. Blessed are the penitents who seek His return. Blessed is the prophetess, purified by flames. May the Chant reach the Maker’s ears and tell him of our contrition. So let it be.”

Keili finally noticed she had an audience and stood. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Solona said, awkward. She hadn’t realized there was someone else in the Chantry until she began chanting. Considering the time, Keili should have been with her mentor, not kneeling in an alcove of the Chantry.

“I recite the Maker’s blessings every day. It brings me peace in troubled times.”

“Are you troubled?” Solona couldn’t refrain from asking. Perhaps the apprentice was concerned about her Harrowing. She never imagined that such a fuss would come from her passing. All the Harrowed mages were happy for her distinction, but the apprentices were suddenly all anxious for their own.

“No, no, not really,” Keili was quick to say. “It’s just . . . I don’t want to bore you with this.”

“It’s all right. I want to know,” assured Solona. She couldn’t walk away without knowing.

“It gives me hope that one day, the Maker will hear us. That maybe I’ll be forgiven, and my curse will be lifted.”

“Curse?”

“Magic—what else?”

Of all the inane ideas! Solona curled her hands into fist to hide how her fingertips were sparking. Magic was not some kind of punishment. If anything, mages were more closely linked to the Maker than everyone else in Thedas, because they drew power from the Realm in which he once dwelled. No other being in the world could claim such.

“Magic isn’t a curse,” Solona firmly stated.

Keili shook her head solemnly, disappointed her viewpoint wasn’t shared. “Magic causes such misery. It’s dangerous and vile and wicked,” she insisted.

“The Chantry must protect the world from us. Being born with something so terrible must be a punishment. I wish I could be rid of it.”

Solona’s violet eyes hardened. Keili’s attitude was an affront to all who had dedicated their lives to using magic for others’ benefits. “If you wish to be rid of your magic so badly, go ask to be made Tranquil.”

“That takes the magic from me?” Did she seriously just ask that? How did Keili not know what Tranquility was? “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You won’t be able to feel anything. Blocking your magic also cuts off your emotions. Your dreams. You won’t even be a person anymore.”

Keili didn’t seem to hear her warning, too overjoyed at the prospect of not having magic. “I had heard that, but life without magic is so tempting. I should go. My mentor only allows a few minutes each day for religious contemplation.”

Uneasy, Solona watched the brunette apprentice run off. Tranquility was her worst nightmare. She couldn’t imagine not having mana flow through her veins, to not care at all about the world around her. It was unfathomable to her that anyone would wish that—state of nonbeing, essentially—upon themselves.

Irving’s door was wide open, so Solona walked straight in. There were three people already present inside the First Enchanter’s office, making the unknown man, the dark-skinned wall of muscles in Rivaini style armor, the Grey Warden. Bearded, muscular, with hair graying at the temples. The man had quite the noble bearing.

“Many have already gone to Ostagar. Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. We’ve committed enough of our own to this war effort.”

“Your own? Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir?” Irving argued, tone like gravel. “Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?”

She hovered on the fringes of the argument. Everyone in the tower knew where these two men stood on the topic of mages and magic. There wasn’t much to talk about in the tower, not counting poorly concealed hookups and the latest theory on how Anders escaped, so most gossip focused on the unending contention between the mages and their watchers.

Greagoir took a threatening step forward. “How dare you suggest—“

“Gentlemen please. Irving, someone is here to see you.” The Warden’s voice was rich and dark just like the rest of him.

All three men turned to see Solona, hovering awkwardly just inside the room like a fresh apprentice sent to the First Enchanter for a lapse of attention in class. “You sent for me?”

“Ah, if it isn’t our new sister in the Circle. Come, child.”

“This is her?” Duncan’s question hung in the air between them as he moved to stand next to the First Enchanter, leaving Solona to wonder if she didn’t meet his expectations.

“Yes, this is she.” Irving’s pride was hardly hidden.

“Well, Irving, you’re obviously busy. We will discuss this later.”

Solona wondered if she was the only one to see the Knight-Commander’s parting words as more of a threat than a friendly reminder.

“Of course. Well, then . . . where was I? Oh yes. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens.”

“Is this why you had me summoned?” Oh, Maker, she hoped he said yes.

“There is something else, but I wanted you to meet Duncan first.” Solona deflated, slightly. The Grey Warden’s presence was a coincidence, then. “You’ve heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect? Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king’s army at Ostagar.”

“Who are we fighting?” she asked. Rumors had run rampant throughout the tower as the higher echelon left the Circle. Despite that, no one knew who they were fighting, though the predominant theory was Orlais was attempting to re-conquer Ferelden.

“The darkspawn threat grows in the south. We need all the help we can get,” answered Duncan.

Solona shuddered. The darkspawn were twisted monsters that dwelled underground. And the Chantry never let the mages forget that it was their kind that had unleashed the terrifying monsters upon the world. The recrimination had never sat right with her. Blaming mages for events that occurred nine ages ago, particularly when the mages in question were Tevinter magisters. As far as she was concerned, the Exalted March on the Tevinter Imperium had done nothing for mages, except give the Chantry the power to decide their fates. Everyone knew Tevinter still practiced blood magic and slavery. They had their own separate Chantry based on their views on magic, which claimed mages were the only people capable of holding titles and deciding laws.

So why did the Chantry proclaim to this day that it was the mages’ hubris that brought the darkspawn into existence when it was the greed of men that had no qualms with blood magic? Why were mages all across Thedas forced to live under constant scrutiny and fear while descendants of the original magisters likely reveled their freedom and flaunted the use of blood magic to this age?

“They have formed into a horde in the Korcari Wilds and threaten to invade north into the valley.”

“And how can mages help?” Solona felt her skepticism was warranted. Enchanted weaponry and armor, sure, but the blonde was never very good at that particular branch of magic. It required more patience and precision than she could muster. Not to mention, it would be better to leave mage capable of runecrafting in the tower. It was a safer environment for their work and had more materials on hand. Irving wouldn’t have introduced her to the Warden if he had come looking for the Circle’s Formari.

“The power you mages wield is an asset to any army. Your spells are very effective against large groups of mindless darkspawn. I fear if we don’t drive them back, we may see another Blight.”

“Duncan, you worry the poor girl with Blights and darkspawn. This is a happy day for her.”

And it would be even happier if the First Enchanter hadn’t changed the topic. Finally, she met someone that shared her opinion. Magic could be used to help others. Instead of scrubbing the tower’s floor on her knees because the templars decided she had spent too much time with her nose buried in a magical tome, Solona could use her affinity towards primal spells to eviscerate darkspawn.

Duncan was unapologetic. “We live in troubled times, my friend.”

“We should seize moments of levity, _especially_ in troubled times,” countered Irving. He gazed upon her with a serious countenance. “The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi.”

Her leash, he truly meant. One more piece of evidence of the Chantry’s hypocrisy. They feared maleficars, the practitioners of blood magic, and yet they used the blood of mages to keep track of them, to exert control over mages.

Solona had always imagined she would feel more accomplished on this day, but she had been forced to acknowledge several unpleasant truths since she had been dragged from her bed. The biggest of which being she was no longer content with her stagnant life in the tower, devouring arcane knowledge in stolen hours because the templars controlled every minute of her day. When she woke. When she ate. How long she spent in classes and studying in the library. Whether or not she was allowed to prayer—not that she did, but Solona should have the option to. Even the people she interacted with. She wanted to be able to do something with her skills and not squander her years in the tower until an apprentice was assigned to her.

She thanked the First Enchanter by rote because it was expected of her.

“I’m sorry, what is this phylactery?” Duncan questioned.

“Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials.”

“So, they can be hunted if they turn apostate.” The words were mild, but one would have to be deaf to miss the layer of disdain underneath the sugar coating.

“We have few choices. The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly.”

That was the point of the Harrowing, or so Solona had thought. Apparently, it mattered not whether a mage had proved herself capable of resisting a demon. The templars would still hold onto that vial of blood for the moment they felt was inevitable.

“You have done this,” Irving continued, completely glossing over the lack of logic he had exposed. “I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle’s insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them.”

Solona accepted the folded robes, dyed the gold and blue colors that would indicate her new status, and a very familiar wooden staff. Apparently, they were standard issue because every mage in the tower, except those who had earned enchanter statues, carried the same staff she did. It seemed to her the seemingly life-changing Harrowing had changed nothing for her. 

“What happens now?”

Irving laughed. “Patience, child. You have been through an ordeal. Let us not rush things. It goes without saying that you will not discuss the Harrowing with those that have not undergone the rite.”

Then perhaps Harrowed mages shouldn’t be returned to the apprentices’ quarters afterwards, Solona thought, resentful. If they were truly concerned about the rite’s secrets, it would be better to separate them immediately.

“Now, then . . . take your time to reset, or study in the library. The day is yours.”

“I would prefer to talk now,” she insisted. He had wanted her to meet Duncan and then hardly allowed the man to talk about the reason for his presence in the Circle Tower.

“Impetuousness is ever the providence of youth, I see.”

Undoubtedly feeling like a third wheel, Duncan announced his intention to return to his quarters. Irving offered Solona’s services in escorting him. Fortunately, she had found his room by chance and was capable of doing so.

And she relished the opportunity to continue to speak with Duncan away from the First Enchanter’s ears and eyes.

“Thank you for walking with me,” Duncan said as he followed her. “I’m glad for the company.”

“I wanted to talk with you a little bit more.”

His dark eyes twinkled, knowingly. “Yes? What about?”

“Have there been many darkspawn attacks? We don’t get much news from outside.”

“Enough to cause concern. We Grey Wardens believe an Archdemon is leading the horde.”

“Archdemon?” That was new.

“Darkspawn do attack the surface in ragtag bands, but Archdemons are capable of rallying the darkspawn. Turning them into an unstoppable force. A horde of darkspawn. A veritable army. I fear this is what we will have to face."

Not entirely unstoppable. Four Blights had ravaged Thedas. Solona recalled the fourth one occurring several hundred years ago. But history told that each Blight ended thanks to the efforts of the Grey Wardens.

“But I thought the darkspawn were destroyed in the last Blight?”

Duncan sighed. “We can’t seem to eradicate them completely. Somehow they always come back.”

“Why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about the war?”

“It is not my place to comment,” the Grey Warden was quick to reply.

“Please, I’d like to know,” she tried to persuade, but he remained firm.

“As I said, it is not my place. Thank you for escorting me.”

Belatedly, Solona realized the pair were standing outside the guest quarters. She told Duncan that it was her pleasure, and it was because she had gotten to learn more of his mysterious order. If all went well, she might be headed south with him in a couple of days, if Irving and Duncan’s conversation was to be believed.

Jowan was waiting for her outside the Grey Warden’s quarters. Had he followed her? Jowan was the only person who knew she was meeting with Irving.

“I’m glad I caught up to you. Are you done talking with Irving?”

“I must be since I’m not in his office.” Her sarcasm was ignored.

“I need to talk to you.” Jowan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you remember what we discussed this morning?”

Maybe it was leftover paranoia from her Harrowing, but his behavior today had been off. “Why are you whispering? It looks suspicious.”

“Shhh! I . . . I just want to make sure we’re not overheard. We should go somewhere else. I don’t feel safe talking here.”

Because of the Grey Warden? Or was it proximity to the senior mages in general? Either way, Solona was very much alarmed by her friend.

“You’re starting to worry me, Jowan.”

“I’ve been troubled,” he admitted at last. Him and every other mage she talked to today. “I’ll explain. Come with me, please.”

He led her, of all places, to the Chantry. She supposed it was a reasonable place to hold clandestine meetings. Most mages avoided it and the templars didn’t come in droves until after the evening meal.

The dread in her gut spread when he beelined towards one of the initiates.

“We should be safe here.”

“In the chapel? The templars’ favorite haunt?”

Once more her sarcasm was mistaken for concern. “We can see the door from here. If anyone comes we’ll change the subject,” the initiate responded.

“Who even are you?” Solona snapped.

“A few months ago, I told you that I . . . met a girl. This is Lily.”

Solona groaned. And to think she thought her feelings for Cullen were foolish. At least he hadn’t sworn any vows of chastity.

“I was beginning to doubt her existence.” As it stood, she wished Jowan had made Lily up.

“I was afraid to tell anyone. She’s training to become a Chantry priest, but she’s taken vows, been given to the Chantry. She’s not allowed to have . . . relations with men. If anyone finds out . . . we’ll both be in trouble.”

“And now you’ve brought me here to talk about your affair. I don’t want to be complicit in this relationship. You only have yourself to blame.”

Jowan, and especially Lily, were fools for even entertaining such an affair. There was no way it would continue to go unnoticed. Punishment, when it came, would be swift and severe.

“I won’t give Lily up for anything.” Solona thought she might be physically sick when Lily looked at him like he hung the sun in the sky. “Remember I said that I didn’t think they wanted to give me my Harrowing? I know why. They’re . . . going to make me Tranquil.”

Jowan looked distraught at the idea, and Solona felt guilty. But not because she hated the idea of Tranquil, but because she thought he had only brought this upon himself.

“They’ll take everything from me that I am from me—my dreams, hopes, fears . . . my love for Lily. All gone . . .”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“I need to escape. I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it they can’t track me down. We need your help. Lily and I can’t do this on our own.”

“Give us your word that you will help, and we will tell you what we intend.” Lily was calm while her lover worked himself into a panic.

“I . . . I need to think this over.”

“I suppose that’s fair. But please give us your answer soon. Time is running out.”

Solona walked calmly out of the chapel and as soon as she was beyond their sight, set off running. If she shed some tears, she ignored them.

Why did Jowan have to be so foolish? If he was willing to wait . . . In a couple of weeks, the Harrowing would be a thing of the past and Jowan would finally be able to crow about winning one of their bets.

She took a calming breath outside Irving’s office and knocked. There was no turning back now. Solona entered when bidden. The First Enchanter was pleased to see her. She mustered up a weak smile.

“I trust you saw Duncan back to his quarters? I’m glad you met him. He’s a most honorable man.”

“I need to talk to you about something.” Hopefully, they could discuss the Grey Warden later.

“Certainly. What is on your mind?”

“Jowan fears he is going to be made Tranquil.”

Irving’s accommodating expression slipped away. “And how does he know this? I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him.” Solona had never been one for hiding her feelings, a trait she regretted now. “You think I didn’t know? I didn’t become First Enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut.”

“Then you must know that Jowan plans to escape the Circle.”

“Oh, interesting. What else do you know?”

“They wouldn’t tell me more.”

“So, his lady friend is involved? Yes, I suppose she must be helping him. She would know more about the repository than he would. You know anything else?”

Solona shook her head.

“It’s of no matter,” Irving said. “I suspected Lily would tell him of the impending rite if she found out. But I never expected they would have the gall to break into the repository.”

For a fleeting moment, she was tempted to strike the First Enchanter. It’s a rare mage that is willing to be made Tranquil. Honestly, Keili was the only person she could recall wishing for her magic to be stripped from her. Of course, Jowan would come up with a desperate scheme to avoid that fate.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Reporting him to the templars and Greagoir will accomplish nothing beyond what’s already planned. If the Circle must punish one of its own, I will see the Chantry done the same courtesy. Lily will not walk free while my apprentice suffers.”

Solona tried to wet her mouth. Irving wanted Lily to get into trouble as well? It wouldn’t serve any purpose. Wouldn’t the loss of their ill-timed love be enough? Having to see him around the tower and know he couldn’t feel anything for her?

“That’s rather vicious of you,” she protested.

“And Chantry and templars are models of magnanimity?” he said with derision. “They would make us all Tranquil if they could and call it a kindness. They fancy themselves our guardians, sitting smugly on their righteousness. The Chantry must be reminded that not all of them are blameless.”

“Can’t you just tell them she’s involved?”

“If we mention her involvement, the Chantry will say she was framed. No, she must be caught in the act.”

“So, you’re using Lily to get back at the Chantry?” That seemed unfair in Solona’s opinion. Lily had made a mistake, and it certainly warranted punishment. But Irving seemed more interested in sticking it to the Chantry than he did seeing justice dealt.

“If you want to survive, you must learn the rules and realize that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary. Jowan will become Tranquil, but Lily must also face the consequences of her actions. How did you learn of their plan? Do they trust you?”

“They haven’t told me what they plan,” she admitted.

“Then do this. Learn the plan and offer to help carry out their scheme. With solid proof of their crime we can act.”

“I’m not comfortable deceiving them.”

“It must be done, child. Go, convince them you will risk all for their cause. I will be outside the repository with a contingent of templars. Let them see the mischief into which their initiate has led our student. Perform well, and your dedication shall be rewarded.”

Wonderful, so Solona would look like a sell-out. Now she was damned either way. She could only hope that by going along with Irving’s plan she was doing Jowan a favor. Perhaps they wouldn’t make him Tranquil when they learned of Lily’s involvement.

Maker, what a mess Solona had gotten herself into.

* * *

Solona hurried back to the chapel, knowing it wouldn’t be good if someone had seen her talking with Irving. She tried to act natural when she re-entered, absentmindedly taking note of how she couldn’t see the pair of lovers from the doorway.

“You’re back! Are you going to help us?” Jowan asked when she ducked into their shadowy corner.

“There’s more I need to know, first?” Everything pointed to Jowan being slated for Tranquility for reasons that had nothing to do with Lily. The papers had been signed and she wanted to know why.

“Really, what?”

“How did you meet Lily?”

His face lit up. “She was saying the Chant of Light in the chapel one night while I was walking past. I had heard that chant many times, but I never realized how beautiful the words were until then. I’ll never forget that night.”

Okay, that was way too mushy.

“Why do you think they want to make you Tranquil?”

Jowan let out an aggrieved sigh. “There’s a rumor going around that I’ve dabbled in blood magic. That’s why they won’t let me take the Harrowing.”

Solona furrowed her brows. She didn’t pay much attention to gossip, but rumors of blood magic spread like wildfire whenever they cropped up, and she couldn’t recall anyone associating Jowan with blood magic.

“How did these rumors start?”

“I’ve been sneaking around to meet Lily in secret. Maybe others have seen me and assumed I must have been doing something forbidden.”

The blonde gave him a pointed looked, for he was sneaking around to have a forbidden affair, to which he gave a sheepish grin.

“I suppose we are. But they think it’s blood magic and it isn’t!”

“Then why don’t you tell them the truth?”

“I’ve thought about it, but it will only make things worse. Lily will be punished! I can’t do that to her. Maybe if it was just Irving, he would spare me. But he has to keep the peace between the Circle and the Chantry. If he stirs up too much trouble they might replace him. They could wipe out the entire Circle if they wanted. The Chantry abhors blood magic. That’s why they’re willing to pay attention to this stupid rumor. Aren’t you sick and tired of the Circle running your life? You could get out of here with us.”

Jowan’s impassioned words gave her pause. Sensing he had struck a chord, the dark-haired mage barreled on. “We can find your phylactery as well.”

“My phylactery has already been sent to Denerim.”

“The repository holds more than phylacteries. Join us, and the artifacts will be yours for the taking.”

Solona chose not to respond to Lily’s bribery. It would be stupid of her to take anything from the tower’s vault when she knew there would be templars waiting for them.

“You could be out of here and gone before they even dispatch a messenger to the city,” Jowan cajoled. “You’re talented and clever. You could take your phylactery back from your hunters, if you wish. You have so much power. Once you’re free . . . they wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

She struggled to maintain a placid expression. What chance did she have of overcoming templars who could smite her? Jowan was grasping at straws, trying to find the one thing that would sway her to help with their desperate scheme.

It was disappointing to be faced with the realization that her oldest friend didn’t know her very well. Even if her phylactery had been present, Solona wouldn’t have contemplated destroying it and escaping. As detestable and hypocritical as the practice was, it wasn’t possible to change people’s opinions of mages if they believed she was an apostate.

“So? Have you decided?”

Violet eyes closed. Solona sent a quick prayer to the Maker that she would be forgiven for what she was about to do.

“The circumstances . . . are different now. I will help you.”

“Thank you,” breathed Lily. “We will never forget this.”

That Solona believed. None of them would forget the events of this night. Jowan, however, would lose his ability to feel betrayed and Lily would probably be sent to a different Chantry.

“So how do you intend to get at Jowan’s phylactery?”

“I can get us into the repository. But there is a problem,” Lily began, and Solona wished she could roll her eyes. “There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander each hold one key. But it is just a door. There is power enough in this place to destroy all of Ferelden. What’s a door to mages?”

“Probably a magical door,” the female mage muttered.

“We have no choice. We cannot get our hands on both keys.”

Solona deeply regretted involving herself in this. Jowan and Lily didn’t have any semblance of a plan. Did they think the strength of their love was going to get them through magically locked doors to the most secure room of the tower?

“I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock. We could get one from the stockroom. But Owain doesn’t release such things to apprentices.”

It felt like Winter’s Grasp had been cast upon her. They needed someone who had passed the Harrowing to take the risks for them, because it was against Chantry law to turn Harrowed mages Tranquil. How long had they waited for this day? Were they even happy for her at all? Or did they only see the shiny new key that would set them free?

“Let’s not waste any more time, then,” she dimly heard herself say.

Lily clutched at Jowan’s arm. “We should stay here. One mage at the stockroom will attract less attention than a mage, an apprentice, and an initiate. Good luck, Solona, our prayers go with you.”

* * *

“Welcome to the Circle’s stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I assist you?”

Solona valiantly ignored the flat delivery. “I need a rod of fire.”

“Rods of fire serve many purposes. Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?”

His response surprised her. Shouldn’t he have just gone and fetched what she requested. “Why do you need to know?”

“It is procedure.”

Solona tried to come up with a need that wasn’t melting locks on doors. “What can the rods be used for?”

“Some mages require them for their research; others merely want to light fireplaces.”

For the love of Andraste, fireplaces? Her kind was too lazy to learn a fire spell to light their own fires. “I anticipate having to light a fireplace.”

Owain didn’t react to her sarcasm, unable to feel offended. Perhaps he couldn’t even recognize when words were strung together in such a way as to be subtly mocking.

“I shall put down that you require the rod to deal with a personal matter. Here is the form—‘Request for Rod of Fire.’ Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter. I will release a rod to you once I have the signed form."

Which senior enchanter would sign the form for her? Solona debated asking Irving himself. All she would have to do is explain Jowan’s plan required it, and the elderly man would undoubtedly sign it. The only issue was it might look too much like a set up if Irving had aided them in getting into the repository.

Maybe Leorah? She had only recently been promoted to senior enchanter, so the woman might be easy to convince.

Solona headed towards the Circle’s laboratory, knowing that was where she would find the senior enchanter in question. The laboratory also had its own storeroom, caves built into the rock the Circle had been built upon. It was a much safer place to keep the dangerous and volatile reagents. Perhaps, there would even be rods of fire inside. Solona would certainly like to get one from Leorah and not leave behind a paper trail if this all went down in flames.

“Senior Enchanter Leorah?”

“Yes?” the elf responded.

“Do you have any rods of fire in the storeroom?”

“No, that’s something the Tranquil deal in.” The vehemence was unnecessary, Solona thought. “This storeroom is for raw magical material and alchemical substances. Lyrium, basilisk blood, and so on.”

She wondered if large quantities of lyrium would be capable of blowing a door. “Could you sign a request form for a rod of fire for me, then?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m in the middle of stock taking.”

And Leorah could get right back to it if she would just sign the damn form. “Maybe I could help you,” offered Solona.

“Oh, no, no. There are . . . things . . . in there I would prefer to keep . . . safe. I can’t let anyone in there in case they . . . mess things up . . . yes.”

“So why are you out here and not in there?” she asked, slyly.

The senior enchanter panicked for a moment. “Look, I’ll tell you the truth, just keep it to yourself. There is an infestation of spiders in the caves. I don’t know how they got in there but it’s probably my fault. I was promoted to senior enchanter less than a fortnight ago and I don’t want anyone to find out. They’ll think I’m incompetent!”

“If I help you, will you help me?” Leorah looked at her, considering. “I’ll deal with the spiders for you, and when I’m done you can sign my request form.”

“Yes, if you can clear out all the spiders, I’ll sign it for you. Here’s the key, and be careful in there. I’d really like to keep the damage done to the Circle’s property to a minimum.”

Solona just about jumped out of her skin when the first giant spider dropped from the ceiling behind her. It was nearly as tall as she was. Spiders had no right being that large. She zapped it from a distance, then picked up a lesser health potion from the ground nearby.

The spiders had really done a number on the place. Every couple of feet she was finding bottles of lyrium and health potions that she had no qualms pocketing. Leorah would just assume they had been destroyed as a result of the spiders, and Solona certainly deserved something for the ever-larger growing web she was weaving around her.

One spider managed to catch her off guard, throwing itself upon her. Fangs ripped at her face. Solona shoved the end of her staff into its abdomen. The spider rolled off her, legs curling as it died.

She cast a simple healing spell, letting its soothing waves roll over her. She’d probably never get used to the sensation of skin knitting itself back together. The blood she wiped off her face with the hem of her robes where it would hopefully go unnoticed.

Solona came across several chests as she hunted the giant spiders. She peeked inside each one, curious. In one she found a soft pair of leather boots. She could feel the mana in them, though she couldn’t guess its purpose. She switched them out with hers anyway. Enchanted boots were better than non-enchanted ones.

It took maybe a quarter of an hour to clear out the spiders, but every passing minute added to her stress. What if Irving and his templars reached the repository before they did? Catching them before they entered wouldn’t be as damning as after the deed had been done.

Leorah whirled about as the storeroom door creaked open. “You’re back! Are the spiders gone?”

“Yes,” Solona answered as she brushed off silky strands of spider webbing.

“Oh, that’s wonderful. You’ve saved my hide, I’m sure. Where’s your form? I’ll sign it now.”

Solona produced the piece of paper, which the senior enchanter signed with a flourish. “Thank you.”

“Right, there you go. How’s that?”

“Excellent, thank you,” Solona thanked her once more.

“It was a pleasure. You’ll go far in the Circle, I bet.”

Uncertainty had Solona holding her tongue. The last twenty-four hours had shown her a side of the Circle she had never seen. In this one instance, Jowan had a point. What good would it be to rise to the rank of First Enchanter if the Chantry would still dictate how she lived her life?

Maybe Irving would be kind enough to select her as a possible recruit for Duncan.

Signed form in hand, she returned to the stockroom.

“Welcome to the Circle’s stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I assist you?” the Tranquil greeted.

It was creepier the second time. Owain may not have had feelings, but did he have to repeat the same robotic greeting to every person who dropped by his stockroom?

“Here’s the signed form.”

Owain took it, eyes carefully scrutinizing the signature at the bottom. “Everything looks to be in order.” He entered the partitioned area that had been organized into the stockroom and came back with a carved white steel metal rod. “Here is the rod you requested.”

Solona nearly body checked a templar in her rush to get away from Owain.

“Slow down, Solona. The books will still be there tomorrow.” Violet eyes widened.

“Cullen?”

The templar laughed. Solona’s gaze was drawn to the way his hair was curling at the tips and how those curls bounced with every twist of his delectable neck. “You don’t stop for anything, do you?”

She let him steady her. “What do you mean?” she asked, wary. Was Cullen aware of the illegal activities she, Jowan, and Lily were about to start? No, she figured. He wouldn’t be so cheerful if he was here to arrest her.

“Only half a day since your Harrowing and you’re headed for the library. You don’t have to worry about the books walking away on you, you know.”

Thank the Maker. Cullen thought she was being typical bookish Solona, always eager to learn something new. For a hot minute, she debated asking the templar for his opinion. Cullen had always been kind to her, and really, the worst he could do was report the whole scheme to Greagoir. The outcome would be unchanged. Jowan would still be made Tranquil and Lily would be sent away and she could ease the guilt that was already making her stomach churn for her involvement in the whole mess.

“You said I could talk you later. Is now okay?”

Pink dusted his cheeks. “Oh . . . I mean, of course. Yes, we can talk. Something on your mind?”

Solona decided to just go for it. As long as she was careful to not mention names and keep the details vague, Cullen wouldn’t be able to act upon anything he learned. She really needed an opinion other than monitor them under the guise of helping.

“If someone you know was going to do something stupid, what would you do?”

Cullen looked thoughtful. She was grateful that he didn’t immediately respond that she should report suspicious activity to the Knight-Commander. Reporting Jowan and Lily would be the easiest thing to do, but the mage really didn’t want to see either of them punished for finding love. They found it in the worse possible people considering Jowan was a mage and Lily was a Chantry initiate, but they didn’t deserve to suffer because of love.

“That would depend on how stupid, I suppose. If nobody was going to get hurt, he could probably learn from making a mistake.”

“And if someone were to get hurt?” she pressed. Because Solona couldn’t imagine any scenario in which the three of them walked away smelling like roses.

Cullen advanced. Her back hit the wall and he used his wide armor and palms on either side of her head to block her in.

“Tell me it’s not you,” he demanded lowly. “If you’re afraid someone is going to hurt you . . .”

She rushed to reassure him. “No, nothing like that. Not physically,” she said frantically.

“Emotionally.”

“I don’t understand.”

Solona sighed. “Neither do I, really. Someone I know wants help hiding something. I think they’re lying to me, but Irving wants me to go along with it and help expose them. But I’m not really comfortable tricking them like that.”

“What are they trying to hide?”

Solona shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, if Irving trusts you to handle this task, his solution is probably for the best. If you do as he says, all should be fine.”

She wished she shared his easy confidence in authority. “Have you never been given a command you disagreed with?”

“No. I perform the Maker’s will.” She admired how resolute he sounded. Perhaps a bit of faith was all she needed.

Solona’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “I’m glad I ran into you. Thank you, Cullen.”

Cullen’s entire face turned bright red as he suddenly realized how their closeness could be misconstrued as a lover’s embrace. “You’re clever. You’ll make the right decision, Solona. I know you will.”

She waited until the templar had vanished around the corner before ducking inside the chapel.

“I hate waiting. It makes me nervous.” Jowan’s voice carried from the far corner.

“You don’t have to wait any more. I have the rod.” Solona waved it before him.

“That was quick!”

“To the repository then. Freedom awaits.”

Lily and Jowan took the lead this time. Solona believed they should have shown more prudence. It would have been better for her and Jowan to follow a bit behind Lily, so that she would have time to unlock the basement door. Not to mention no one would see an initiate rushing through the halls with two mages.

Lily led them to a much thicker wooden door than Solona had expected. She hoped the rod of fire was strong enough on its own, because she had no talent for the fire element.

“The Chantry calls this entrance ‘the Victims’ Door.’ It is built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original templar. It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose.”

The blonde mage shot the her a scathing glare for that remark. If she was so devout, what was she doing falling in love with a mage and helping him escape?

“How do you know this?” Jowan asked, curious.

“Initiates must learn the Circle’s history if they are to work with templars and mages.”

Solona wanted to call bullshit. As a mage, she obviously learned the Circle’s history, and no one ever mentioned a monumental door. Clearly, it was a Chantry thing.

“More importantly, how do we get past it?” Solona posed at their expert in all things Chantry.

“The doors can only be opened by a templar and a mage, entering together.” Lily rushed on, likely sensing that Solona’s tolerance for the poorly planned escape had reached its limits. “The Chantry provides the password, which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana, to release it.”

Lily’s explanation had done her no favors. The more Solona learned, the more it appeared they only needed her here to take the fall for them. The two of them were all that was needed to get through. Apparently, she needn’t have even bothered with the rod, which made her wonder why Lily hadn’t said earlier that it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Since you have the password, can’t Jowan help you enter?” She said, pointedly.

“The ward only responds to the touch of one who has been through the Harrowing,” the brunette explained.

Solona’s brows shot up. Why would Lily bother with such an obvious lie? She had never heard of a ward that could determine whether or not the magic touching it had passed its Harrowing. Mana was mana. And while each mage’s mana had a different feel, making it possible to recognize them by that feel alone if one was sensitive enough, it wasn’t like being put through the Harrowing changed that signature.

“I trust you have the password,” she prompted, though she didn’t trust anything from either of them at this point. Maker, the demons she confronted in the Fade were more truthful than Jowan, who was supposed to be her friend.

“Yes, I got it from a templar who recently accompanied a mage into the vault.” Solona supposed the password must never change. Nor, apparently, was it suspicious for a lowly initiate to be asking for the magical words to a door she didn’t have enough seniority to enter. “We have chatted on many occasions. I believe he trusts me.” Because that meant he wouldn’t report her desire for out of place knowledge.

Lily turned and reached an arm out towards the door. “Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade.” A soft clicking noise indicated the phrase had had some effect. “The password only primes the door. Now it must feel the touch of mana. Any spell will do, but hurry.”

Lily stepped to the side and Solona hit the door with an Arcane bolt.

They waited with baited breath. The locked overturned loudly, and the door swung open. Elated, Jowan was the first to reach the repository’s door.

“Quick, melt the locks off!”

Valiantly resisting the urge to question if this door didn’t also have a magical password, because she was thoroughly fed up with the scheming lovebirds--their plan had more holes than swiss cheese and she was likely to turn the rod of fire on one of them should another lie fall from their lips--Solona aimed the rod of fire at the door and pushed her mana through it. At this point, she wasn’t even surprised when it failed to work.

“What’s the matter? Why isn’t it working?” Lily was panicking now, clearly not having had the forethought that the second door would be magically warded.

“Lily . . . something’s not right. I . . . can’t cast spells here. Nothing works.”

The blonde remained silent as they tried to hash out what was preventing the use of magic.

“These wards carved into the stone . . .” Lily brushed her hand over the intricately carved wall, “this must be the templars’ work. They negate any magic cast within this area.”

Her Circle history class must have been very thorough, if the priest-to-be was taught what magic preventing wards looked like.

“I should have guessed. Why would Greagoir and Irving use simple keys for such a door? Because magical keys don’t work! How do you keep mages away from something? Make their powers completely worthless! That’s it then! We’re finished! We can’t get in.”

“What about that door? Where does it lead?” Solona drew their attention towards the second door at the end of the hall. She hadn’t gone through all this trouble in hopes of sparing Jowan the Rite of Tranquility for them to cry and moan and the first sign of failure.

Everything in the Circle was, aptly enough, built in a circle. If they could get through that door, chances were they could still get into the repository.

“That door probably leads to another part of the repository. What are the chances of there being another entrance?”

Solona was willing to bet they were rather high. Irving hadn’t given her any instructions on how to reach the phylactery chamber, and he obviously knew they wouldn’t be able to get past this door. “We don’t have much choice. Unless you want to turn around, now?”

It was Lily that answered. “We can’t get into the chamber the way we planned, but we’re not about to give up. We can see where this door leads, but I don’t think it will be easy . . . it’s probably locked as well.”

Solona marched towards it, rod of fire held aloft. “Let’s hope it’s not warded, then.”

A stream of fire leapt from the rod when she channeled her mana. With a whoosh, it flared hot enough to melt the lock. She pushed open the door, only to whip around at Jowan’s cry of alarm.

“That’s not good!”

The suit of armor had come alive.

Solona directed Lily to stand back. She had no fighting skills and would only break her hand if she actually threw the punch she intended. Her lightning magic wasn’t safe to use in such close quarters, and Solona didn’t fancy seeing if the metal armor would redirect it back at her, so she stuck to blasts of raw spirit energy.

Two more sentinels stepped away from the wall when the small group turned down the next hallway, setting the tone for the rest of their journey, undoubtedly.

They wasted a lot of time checking if the repository lay behind every door they crossed.

“We need to get out of here,” Lily said, as they dispatched the fourth group of sentinels. Solona agreed. She was rapidly depleting her mana and she only carried two lyrium potions.

The next door held creatures she had never seen before. A pack of small, lizard-like creatures, but with a head and mouth resembling a worm. Whatever they were, they had very little fortitude and were dealt with quickly.

They were jumped by three sentinels in the next hallway, a sure sign that they were getting closer to their goal. Occupied as she was, Solona only saw the spray of blood from her peripheral vision. Her hands were already bathed in the green aura of Creation magic as she took Jowan’s arm. The sentinel’s mace must have landed a glancing blow. The gash was shallow enough for her to handle.

Solona was grateful when they finally found the large room of artifacts. If she was right, the phylactery chamber was on the other side of the wall to her left.

But she definitely wanted to search the room first. The was so much history locked away down here. She wanted to look while she had the chance, because she would probably never be allowed in the repository again.

There was a blackened staff in a large stone chest. It took the joint effort of both her and Jowan to push the lid off far enough to see what was inside. Solona decided to take it with her. Irving had said she would be rewarded for her actions. She believed this staff was a suitable reward. It didn’t look very impressive, but she could feel that it held more power than its appearance led one to believe.

Jowan called them over to take a gander at an odd statue he had found.

“I wonder who it is,” mused Solona. Its craftsmanship wasn’t of Ferelden make.

“Greetings.”

“Maker’s breath! Did it just say something?”

“I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to the Archon Valerius. Prophecy, my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord’s house.”

“Archon Valerius?” Solona repeated, astonished. Why in Andraste’s flaming knickers would the Circle have an ancient, talking Tevinter statue?

“’Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress,’ he said, ‘and tell your lies to all who pass . . .’ But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies and his once-proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold.”

“A Tevinter statue!” Lily exclaimed, blatantly repulsed. “Don’t listen to it! The Tevinter lords dabbled in many forbidden arts! This is a wicked thing!”

It was, but not solely because a long dead Tevinter magister was responsible for it. The statue had once been a woman, betrayed by the man she loved. Now she sat, conscious, as a stone statue, unable to pass on.

“How did they do this to you? Are you still alive?”

“Weep not for me, child,” the statue said solemnly. “Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure ‘til the Maker returns to light their fires again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ambiguous rubbish,” came Jowan’s voice over her shoulder. “It could mean anything. I can do it too: The sun grows dark, but lo! Here comes the dawn!”

“Stop talking to it. Please, both of you,” pleaded Lily. “Come on, Jowan. We need to find your phylactery.”

The found another Tevinter statue, this time in the shape of a dog. This one didn’t talk, thank the Maker, but its presence sent Lily off into an impressive rant about why the Circle kept so many Tevinter artifacts in storage.

“It’s history, Lily . . . and it’s fascinating. I’ve seen pictures of ones like this before. They amplify any spell cast into them,” Jowan explained.

Solona understood why this one was locked away. The last thing apprentices learning to control their powers needed was access to the statue that acted as an amplifier.

“I bet we could use this to break into the phylactery chamber,” Jowan went on. “It should be right on the other side of that wall. It already looks like it’s crumbling. See where the mortar is decaying?”

She touched the rod of fire to the back of the statue and had to duck away from the resultant explosion. There was no way that had gone unnoticed. Irving and the templars would be heading to their location now.

The phylactery chamber was covered in a layer of frost, probably to preserve the blood. It also contained more sentinels. The icy environment benefited the trio of conspirators. The sentinels were sluggish and jerky in their movements, allowing Solona to make quick work of them. Jowan, upon entering the room, had beelined for the second level with his love on his heels.

After the last armor clattered to the ground like a cut puppet, Solona began scouring the shelves, looking for any way to distinguish one phylactery from another. Seeing all these vials of blood unnerved her.

“This is my phylactery! We found it! I can’t believe this tiny vial is all that stands between me and freedom.” His voice took on a trance-like quality. “So fragile, so easy to just be rid of it . . . to end its hold over me . . .”

Jowan dropped it. The vial shattered, spilling its contents. Solona felt a slight shudder pass through her as she sensed the magic being released.

“. . . and I am free.”

“Not to burst your bubble, Jowan, but the sooner we’re out of here, the better,” said Solona.

“I don’t want to stay here a moment longer,” Lily agreed with her.

From the phylactery chamber, it was easy to reach the tower’s main level. For reasons Solona couldn’t be bothered to contemplate, they were able to open the magically locked door from the inside, and not have to traverse the entirety of the repository.

“We did it!” Jowan cheered as they left the repository behind. “I can’t believe it! Thank you . . . we could never have—“

“So, what you said was true, Irving.”

The Knight-Commander’s words cut across Jowan’s preemptive celebration. Solona was almost disappointed to see Irving had brought the templars, as promised. She half wanted to see how the lovers planned to get out of the tower.

“I assure you, this isn’t what it what it looks like,” Solona was quick to say.

But Greagoir’s stern faces was directed at Lily, half hidden behind Jowan. “An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed, Lily.”

The templars truly believed Jowan was a blood mage? He was too weak to be a maleficar.

“She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then. You’re were right, Irving,” he turned to address the first enchanter. “The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished.

“And this one,” he said, pointing an accusing hand in Solona’s direction, “newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle.”

“It’s not her fault! This was my idea!” Jowan protested. The blonde couldn’t even appreciate the prompt defense. She certainly thought it would have been kinder of him to wait a day before springing this on her. She didn’t get to enjoy the fact that she passed her Harrowing.

“She is here under my orders, Greagoir. I’ll take full responsibility for her actions.”

Solona didn’t shrink from the pained look Jowan gave her. “Wait . . . you . . . you led us into a trap?!”

“You have to know this wasn’t the right choice, Jowan.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me!” he spat.

“Enough!” commanded Greagoir. “As Knight-Commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death.”

Solona opened her mouth to protest. Jowan was a fool, dreaming of things he couldn’t have, but he wasn’t a blood mage. He didn’t deserve to be killed.

“And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

Two templars clunked their way towards Lily, who shrank back, protesting feebly. “The . . . the mages’ prison. No . . . please, no. Not there!”

Solona couldn’t blame her for her fear. Aeonar was many a mages’ nightmare. Its location was known only to the templars. There was rumor the Veil was thin there. Having stepped foot in the Harrowing Chamber, Solona had a frame of reference to compare it to. Those who had a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, would inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent. It was a trial-by-fire that most mages failed.

“No! I won’t let you touch her!”

Solona could only watch, stunned, as Jowan withdrew a dagger and plunged into his other hand. Blood grotesquely writhed up around Jowan, dancing towers of red and black. He flung his hands towards the gathered templars and blood, more than she thought a human body capable of holding, raced forward, knocking everyone but her, Lily and Jowan to the floor.

Jowan turned to his love, only to see Lily retreat from him. “By the Maker . . .” she breathed. “Blood magic! H-how could you? You said you were never . . .”

“I admit, I . . . dabbled! I thought it would make me a better mage!”

By the Maker, Solona swore. Where did he get such a dumb idea?”

“Blood magic is evil, Jowan. It corrupts people . . . changes them . . .”

He tried to plead with Lily. “I’m going to give it up. All magic. I just want to be with you, Lily. Please, come with me . . .” he begged.

“I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you . . . I . . . I don’t know who you are, blood mage. Stay away from me . . .”

Later, in the safety of the inn across the lake, Solona would blame the now wilting flower that was Lily. If she hadn’t encouraged Jowan’s feelings he never would have sunk to learning blood magic. He never spoke of gaining freedom from the Circle before Lily appeared in his life. Like the rest of them, Jowan was resigned to life in the tower.

Heartbroken, Jowan fled. Solona did nothing to prevent his escape. Jowan, a blood mage? How had he hidden that from her? A pained groan had her kneeling by Irving, who was beginning to rouse.

“Are you all right? Where’s Greagoir?”

“I knew . . . blood magic.” The Knight-Commander climbed to his feet. “But to overcome so many . . . I never thought him capable of such power . . .”

Him and her both, Solona thought, regretfully. She had believed Jowan when he claimed the rumors of him using blood magic were false.

“He lied to me!” Solona defended when Greagoir’s piercing gaze fell on her.

“None of us expected this. Are you all right, Greagoir?”

“As good as can be expected given the circumstances!” the head templar was enraged. “If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!”

“He can’t have gone too far.” The tower sat in the middle of Lake Calenhad. Only Anders ever managed to reach land successfully, and he never shared how he did so. “You could still capture him.”

Greagoir sneered at her. “Believe me, we will use every resource. Where is the girl?”

“I . . . I am here, ser.” Lily still cowered at the top of the staircase.

“You helped a blood mage! Look at all he’s hurt!”

“Lily didn’t know Jowan was a blood mage. None of us did.”

“Save your breath. I can speak for myself. Knight-Commander . . . I . . . I was wrong. I was accomplice to a . . . a blood mage. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even . . . even Aeonar.” Lily ducked her head before the Knight-Commander, awaiting her sentence.

“Get her out of my sight,” he ordered. Once more he turned his attention and fury on Solona. “And you. You were in a repository full of magics that are locked way for a reason.”

“Did you take anything important from the repository?” asked Irving.

“Yes, this staff.” She removed it from her back and held it out to them. “You can have it back.” It did not engender the goodwill she was hoping for.

“Some honesty, at last.” Greagoir was less than impressed. He clearly believed she shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. “But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! What are we to do with you?"

She shot a fear filled look at the first enchanter. “I was only doing what I was told!”

“As I said, she was working under my orders,” explained Irving.

“And this improves the situation? The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me!”

Irving crossed his arms. “I had my reason.”

“You’re not all-knowing, Irving! You don’t know how much influence the blood mage might have had. How are we to deal with this?”

“Knight-Commander, if I may . . .” Solona nearly gave herself whiplash when she turned to find Duncan approaching. “I am not only looking for mages to join the king’s army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks.”

“What?” Greagoir was outraged. “You promised him a new Grey Warden?”

“She has served the Circle well,” Irving defended. “She would make an excellent Grey Warden.”

Solona felt as if the bones in her legs had turned to mush. For a moment, she thought Greagoir was going to insist she be punished for her part in this travesty, acting under Irving’s orders or not.

“We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting darkspawn requires such dedication as she has shown, often at the expense of all else.”

“I object. You say she operated under your instructions, Irving, but I do not trust her.” Not a surprise. Greagoir didn’t trust any of the mages. “I must investigate this issue, and I will _not_ release this mage to the Grey Warden.”

“If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly go,” Solona interjected.

“Greagoir, mages are needed. This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages—you know that. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.”

“This mage does not deserve a place in the Order,” argued Greagoir.

“Why? Do we not reward service?” Irving asked, rhetorically. “This mage has served the Circle well.” His next words were directed at her. “You have an opportunity few even dream of. Do not squander it.”

“So, I am to be a Grey Warden?” Was Irving allowed to overrule Greagoir in this regard?

“Yes. Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know.”

Lucky, maybe. But there wasn’t much left for her at the tower, anymore. Her closest friend turned out to be no friend at all and was now an escaped maleficar. If she stayed, Greagoir would always be watching her. The only good memory she’d take away would be those of her and Cullen. Odd, that the templar turned out to be a better friend to her.

“Come,” Duncan beckoned. “Your new life awaits.”


	4. Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For D4 day

“You cannot deny that she conspired to free a blood mage, dwarf.”

“Perhaps, not,” Varric said, sagely. “But she didn’t know. The Hero took Jowan at his word because she trusted him. All she wanted was to see her friend happy.”

“She should not have helped to begin with! Personal loyalty does not excuse her actions. There is a reason mages are kept within the Circles.”

“The war you now face is because the Circles weren’t working, Seeker. Tell me, would you just sit on your thumbs while the system catastrophically fell apart around your ears?”

“Mages are not meant to hold their own leashes.”

“You can’t have met many good mages.”

Cassandra’s eyes flashed with warning. “I do not see what the Hero of Ferelden has to do with the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Varric faux gasped. “You don’t know? They’re cousins, of course!”

“Continue, dwarf. Do not leave anything out.”

* * *

In a haze, Solona followed Duncan to the apprentice quarters.

“If there is anything you wish to take with you, grab it now. I think finding lodging across the lake would be best.”

She did as bid, scooping up her staff. The silver ring she turned over in her hands. The embossed Circle insignia gleamed. Wear them proudly, Irving had said. She had earned them.

The ring hit the bedspread with an inaudible thump. Greagoir was right. What part of her actions in the last twenty or so hours had proven her worthy of entry into the legendary Grey Wardens?   
Conspiring to lead her best friend into a trap? Allowing Jowan to destroy his phylactery?   
Unleashing a blood mage?

“If you are ready?” inquired Duncan.

Solona grabbed a journal as well, and silently followed him out of the tower. First time outside the stone walls she grew up in, and she couldn’t even appreciate the view. The night sky was black. The inky waters of Lake Calenhad reflected that darkness.

But Duncan navigated the rocky path to the dock, where a templar awaited. He helped her into the little rowboat, and Solona had a death grip upon the edge as it rocked.

The warrior let out a soft chuckle. If Solona wasn’t too busy battling queasiness, she’d be angry he was laughing at her misfortune.

“I imagine you don’t leave very often, do you?”

“Apprentices aren’t allowed to leave at all,” she muttered. “Even the senior mages need permission. Usually, it requires outside orders.”

An awkward silence fell upon the rowboat for the remainder of the journey to shore. Duncan guided her with a hand on the elbow up the slight incline to the Spoiled Princess. The inn’s owner didn’t bat an eye at the man’s request for a single room with two beds. Solona was unbothered by the arrangement. The apprentice quarters slept all apprentices. Transparency above all else, in the Circle. No places for the mages to practice blood magic in secret, supposedly.

Dinner was a simple fare, a grey but hearty stew. Solona dragged her spoon through the liquid, occasionally lifting a bite to her mouth.

“Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens and darkspawn?” she asked. The time to wallow in pity was past. What was done couldn’t be undone. All she could do was move forward and hope to live up to Duncan’s expectations.

“Certainly. I am intimately familiar with these subjects, after all.”

Solona gave him a weak smile, appreciative of the effort to lift her black mood.

“What, exactly, do Grey Wardens do?”

“Our duty is to battle darkspawn wherever they appear. We are elves, human and dwarves united by this common purpose.” 

“And mages?” she asked. “I’ve heard you have few in your ranks.”

“That is true,” replied Duncan, “but not because we fear mages. On the contrary, I wish we had more. I asked King Cailan’s permission to come and seek a greater commitment from the Circle. When he sent out the call to arms, the Circle only sent seven mages to Ostagar.”

That probably explained why Leorah got promoted to senior enchanter. The warrior may have been less than impressed with the number, but not counting the first enchanter, seven mages equaled half of their senior level mages.

“I sometimes wonder if the Chantry’s many laws regarding magic are necessary. Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages, even abominations.”

“That’s not a popular opinion to have,” she pointed out. What did the Chantry care if darkspawn consumed the world? They would blame the mages, regardless. Magic was responsible for all evil, apparently.

Duncan’s expression was regretful. “It takes decades for the world to recover from a Blight. I wish the Chantry could see that. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn.”

“How many mages could you possibly need?”

“I hope to place a mage or two with every contingent. I cannot do with just seven. Mages will make all the difference in this battle. The darkspawn have their own magic, and our resources must exceed theirs.”

Solona’s spoon slipped from slack fingers, bouncing off the rim of her bowl with a loud clatter. “Darkspawn can use magic?”

“Indeed.” Duncan’s face was solemn. “They are called Emissaries. Their use of blood magic makes them particularly dangerous enemies.”

“Blood magic is evil.” Her eyes darkened, remembering the events only an hour before.

“There have been mages within the Grey Wardens who have needed to resort to blood magic to deal with the darkspawn.” His delivery was carefully neutral. Solona couldn’t discern if the warrior agreed with the practice of blood magic. “It is something to consider, certainly.”

Solona pushed away from the table. “I will never use blood magic. It causes nothing but suffering.”

Petulantly, she bundled herself into her bed, purposefully lying with her back towards the opposite bed intended for Duncan. The man said nothing when he came in.

She stared at the wall for a long length, worrying over what the future now held in store for her. As least the Grey Wardens seemed not to give a nug’s ass about race. Solona possessed an ability they desperately needed, so much so that Duncan was willing to risk the Chantry’s wrath by recruiting directly into his own ranks.

Exhausted, sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

**25 Haring, 9:30**

They travelled south through the Hinterlands to the ruin of Ostagar, on the edges of the Korcari Wilds. The journey took the better part of a week. Solona was grateful that the darkspawn had chosen to attack during Guardian. It was the tail end of Fereldan’s summer, so it wasn’t scorching hot. Another month or two and her mage’s robes would provide little protection against bitter cold winds and snow.

Duncan never pushed her for conversation or company. When her thoughts were too much he let her be, gazing into the campfire as if the flames held all her answers.

She tried to psych herself up as they drew closer to Ostagar. Despite how it came to be, Solona had the opportunity of a lifetime. The very opportunity she had secretly wished for, trapped in the Circle Tower. She could wield her magic openly, without fear of templars. And she could use it with a purpose beyond proof that she had learned the spell.

Ostagar was a towering fortress, straddling a narrow pass between the hills.

As they crossed the long stone bridge, Solona was duly impressed. According to Duncan, the Tevinter Imperium had built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. He thought it was fitting that the king’s army was to make its stand here, albeit it against a much different foe.

“The king’s forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens in Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. The Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall,” divulged Duncan.

“Why are there only a few Wardens?”

“A question for another time. It appears the king awaits us.”

True enough, just through the massive stone archway that marked the end of the Imperial Highway, stood a man in resplendent golden armor.

“Ho there, Duncan!” greeted the king, grasping forearms with said man.

“King Cailan, I didn’t expect—“

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!” The king was rather jovial for a man faced with an army of darkspawn.

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty,” said Duncan seriously.

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious! The other Wardens tell me you’ve found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?”

Solona was startled. Mostly by the king’s enthusiastic interest in her. Though she wondered when Duncan found the time to send word that she was coming.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.”

King Cailan moved directly in front of her. Solona was surprised to find that the monarch was only an inch or two taller than her.

“No need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all. Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?”

“I am Solona, your Majesty,” she answered.

“Pleased to meet you!” He actually sounded genuinely pleased. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them.”

Was this what life was like, being outside the Circle? No two people she’d meet sharing the same opinion? It was refreshing.

“I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?”

“I’m only recently out of my apprenticehood,” she clarified, figuring that to everyone outside the Circle, a mage was a mage.

“Your abilities are still above those of other men,” the king praised. Solona blinked away the wetness in her eyes. She was not going to cry because one man recognized the good mages could do. “That the Grey Wardens have recruited you says much. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.”

“I hope my skills are enough.”

King Cailan turned back to Duncan. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

“Ha!” the monarch scoffed. “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

Solona snuck a glance at Duncan. The man’s face was passive. “I didn’t realize things were going so well.”

“I’m not even sure this is a real Blight,” he said glibly. “There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.”

“Disappointed, your Majesty?” Duncan asked wryly.

“I’d hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But, I suppose this will have to do. I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!”

Solona crossed her forearms and bowed slightly.

“A warrior’s greeting. Not chosen on purpose, I suspect.”

“Should I not have bowed?”

“Women generally curtsey. But I imagine the Circle doesn’t teach its apprentices court etiquette.”

“He sounded quite confident. Is the war really going as well as the king claimed?” She wouldn’t be returned to the Circle if they discovered they had no need of her, would she?

“What the king said is true. They’ve won several battles against the darkspawn, here.”

“Yet, you don’t sound very reassured.”

The Grey Warden commander gestured towards the camp. “Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now they look to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

Solona furrowed her brow, puzzled. “Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly.”

“Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference.”

She couldn’t blame the king for not wanting help from Orlais. Chances were, soon as the Blight was defeated, the Chevaliers would turn their blades on Ferelden.

“To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.”

Solona’s mouth suddenly felt like she swallowed sand. “What do you mean? What ritual?”

“Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden.” Duncan explained. “The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon.”

“Why is the ritual so secret? Is it like the Harrowing?”

“The Joining is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary. It is an ordeal. I am sorry you must endure another so soon.”

The Harrowing was reputed to be dangerous. Solona had apparently exceeded any expectations put upon her, so hopefully, the Joining wouldn’t prove too much for her to handle. To the Maker’s ears, she prayed. 

“Am I the only recruit you have?”

“No,” Duncan denied. “There are two other recruits here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive.”

“You said there were preparations? What do you need me to do?”

“Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being.”

Solona thought that was a given. She had nowhere to go, and if she left before undergoing the ritual, she’d simply be an apostate.

“There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to.”

Solona appreciated that he didn’t coddle her. A consequence of growing up in the Circle, she had learned to be self-dependent early on. The area Duncan had indicated appeared to house the higher ups; the king, the teyrn, the Grey Wardens. She’d bet her staff the army’s seven mages, and accompanying templars, were stationed across the bridge as well.

But the downside of never being able to leave the tower meant Solona was frankly overwhelmed.

She took her time crossing the bridge. The railing, where it existed, hardly came up to her knees. Several chunks had been gouged out, forcing the mage to zig zag as she crossed.

“You new here?” the soldier stationed at the base of a statue asked. “This place hasn’t seen such bustle in centuries, I’ll wager. Need a hand getting anywhere.”

“What can you tell me about Ostagar?”

“Used to be a fortress, long time ago, so I understand. Back in the days when the Wilders used to invade the lowlands. You were just on the eastern side of the ruin. The Tower of Ishal is there, but Teyrn Loghain’s closed it off until the battle. This side is the king’s camp. We got the Grey Wardens here, the Circle of Magi, the Chantry . . . you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting somebody important.”

“Do I hear dogs barking?”

“This is Ferelden, isn’t it?” the man cracked a joke. “The king has his kennels on the west side of camp. Stinks from all the hounds.”

So that was the wet, musky smell.

“They aren’t cute puppies, though—some of these dogs bite the darkspawn and get too much of that blood in them. . . It’s like poison. Slow, painful death. Terrible.”

“Could you tell me where I could find the king?”

“Probably in his tent,” was her answer. “He and Teyrn Loghain are on the southwest side of the camp. “The king likes to spend time with his soldiers, though, sometimes even without his bodyguards. Drives Teyrn Loghain wild, that does.”

“Last ones, where can I find a Grey Warden named Alistair and Duncan’s tent?”

“I think your boy was sent with a message to the mages. They’re located to the north. The commander’s tent is straight ahead, by the fire pit. It’s past the royal encampment. The rest of your fellows are in the valley with the army.”

Solona thanked the soldier profusely, and set to exploring the camp. He let her go with a final piece of advice, the location of the quartermaster. Just as he said, there was a group of mages in the midst of casting a spell so strong she could see the mana in the air. The templars posted outside glared at anyone that came within ten feet.

She tried to ask a man if he was Alistair but received a clipped no as he rushed by.

“Solona, is that you, child?” The blonde mage turned, searching for whoever called her name. She spotted a familiar figure leaning against a tree. “What do we have here? I heard the new Grey Warden recruit was from the Circle. I should have known they’d select you.”

It hadn’t seemed like much of a selection. Certainly, Duncan had been interested in her, but it was a stroke of fortune that the man had come upon Irving and Greagoir arguing over what to do with her.

“I’m glad to see a familiar face, Senior Enchanter Wynne.” The elderly mage wasn’t her favorite of people, but the familiarity was welcome, indeed. Despite the fact that she was standing on solid ground, it didn’t feel like it. So many changes happening all too quickly. Solona would almost welcome one of Wynne’s long winded lectures. 

“Congratulations on your Harrowing, dear,” said the white-haired mage. “Marvelous work, the Fade is a dangerous place.”

More so than it was supposed to be. “Yes, I know all about that.”

Wynne chuckled. “You know all there is to know already, do you?”

Solona blinked, confused. How did admitting her experience with the Fade was dangerous come across as all-knowing?

“Irving said as much about you,” the elderly mage continued. “Remarkable self-confidence.”

She shrugged. She certainly wasn’t going to complain if she gave off an aura that she was confident.

“So, a Grey Warden . . .” Wynne trailed off, reminiscent. “Fighting alongside the king. Not too shabby for someone just out of apprenticeship.”

Solona honestly didn’t know how to respond, but the other woman seemed to be expecting a response. Considering the circumstances, Solona hoped that she wouldn’t disappoint anyone, and she said as much to Wynne.

“Hmph, child. You have been taught well. Use what you know, and have faith in yourself. Mages have always been pivotal in the fight against the darkspawn. Perhaps you will be the one to turn the tide this time.”

The blonde mage walked away from that conversation with a sudden weight upon her shoulders. Knowledge wasn’t the issue. Solona could recite magical theory and history until she was blue in the face. Skill was another matter. Her repertoire of spells was rather small. Control came hard to her. Simply learning a spell took her more effort than it had for other apprentices.

Cullen had often accused her of being stubborn. Solona thought it more a matter of pride. She couldn’t stand being the last one to perform a spell. So, she spent the extra time her fellow apprentices used for secret trysts practicing relentlessly.

She knew a lot of spells she could cast theoretically, but she wouldn’t risk it without practicing first.

Solona found one of the Tranquil, Daveth--one of the other two recruits--, and the quartermaster in short order. A quick chat with the pickpocket told her that she would probably be heading out into the heart of the Wilds for the mysterious Joining, so she made certain to purchase a backpack off the quartermaster and stocked it with the supplies she had crammed into her robe’s pockets.   
Her opinion of the man didn’t improve when he mentioned a casual bet with the second apprentice about “what she’d be.” For all they guessed, they apparently expected a human male, probably wielding a greatsword as tall as she.

Hackles raised and pride threatened, Solona excused herself from the conversation quickly, jogging up the ramp. She followed the sound of raised voices up another ramp. A mage was arguing with a man he identified to be a Grey Warden.

“What is it now? Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

She stepped forward, knowing the Warden in question must be the Alistair she was searching for, and was struck by how similar he was in appearance to Cullen. His hair was darker but held highlights of blond. It was kept very short as well, except for the part in front. It was slightly longer and stuck up adorably. Alistair even had the same sturdy build as Cullen and the slightest hint of scruff.

Staring at him was like déjà vu. Until he opened his mouth.

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage,” Alistair sassed. “She desires your presence.”

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the king’s orders I might add!

Solona cocked a brow, betting the mage wouldn’t dare say that within earshot of the Revered Mother herself. It was easy to see that the mage was trying to use the king as an excuse, but seeing as Alistair was a Grey Warden and that there was absolutely nothing the mage could possibly be doing up here, it didn’t go over well.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” Alistair asked glibly.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

Solona shook her head at the mage’s foolishness. She was all for a little less Chantry oversight, but yelling at the messenger boy served no purpose. Not to mention, Alistair wasn’t even a templar.

“Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.”

“Your glibness does you no credit.”

“Here I thought we were getting along so well,” drawled Alistair. “I was even going to name one of my children after you . . . the grumpy one.”

Solona tried and failed to disguise her laugh as a cough.

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!” The last part was hurled at her as the man tore past, but Solona paid the grumpy mage no mind.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

Her heart skipped a beat when warm brown eyes turned on her, and she spoke without thinking. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Alistair looked shocked briefly, causing Solona concern over if her words made sense, and then his whole face light up boyishly.

“It’s like a party: we could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn something to think about.”

The mage couldn’t help but laugh at the image his words conjured; a group of darkspawn halting their charge because they didn’t know what to do with an enemy that chose to recite the Chant of Light over taking up arms.

Alistair’s brows furrowed as he finally took the time to examine the woman standing before him. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

“Would that make your day any worse?” She asked, lips curling upwards at the end.

“Hardly, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment.”

Solona wiggled her fingers at him. “Nothing. Guess you’re safe around me.”

She was quickly coming to enjoy the sight of this man laughing.

“Wait, I do know who you are. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from the Circle of Magi.” She mock-curtseyed. “I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.”

“That's all right. No offense taken.”

“Good. You didn’t exactly catch me at my finest with the mage there. Allow me to introduce myself: I’m Alistair, the new Grey Warden, though I guess you knew that. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

She offered a hand and he shook it. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Solona.”

“Right, that was the name. "You know. . . it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

“Probably because we’re too smart for you.” Solona softened the blow with a cheeky grin.

“True. But if you’re here, what does that make you?”

She was delighted that Alistair played along. “Just one of the boys?”

“Sad, isn’t it? So, I'm curious: Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

Solona raised a brow, sarcastically. “I’m a Circle mage that never left the tower before a week ago.”

Alistair flushed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I’ll take that as a no. When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was. I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering another. Anyhow, whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

“I’m glad I met you. I look forward to traveling with you when this war business is done with.” She had to say that before the Warden’s version of the Harrowing was forced upon her. Alistair would never understand how much comfort his casual attitude gave her—nor would she tell him—though it helped that he reminded her of Cullen.

“You do? That’s a switch. If you have any questions let me know, otherwise lead on.”

Solona leaned forward on her toes eagerly. She always had questions. Alistair would come to regret that invitation shortly. “Tell me a little bit about yourself? I’d like to get to know you better if we’ll be fighting side by side.”

“You first,” he returned. “Did you want to become a Grey Warden?”

The grin slipped off her face. Solona had been so comfortable around him that she forgot all about the memories of the tower. How was she supposed to answer? Alistair had no idea he had just stepped on what was tantamount to a landmine for his new charge. She had been curious to hear of a Grey Warden’s arrival to the Circle of Magi and hadn’t wasted the opportunity to pester Duncan with questions. However, joining the order would only be a means to an end, in her mind. A way beyond the tower’s walls. Freedom to use her magic in whatever manner she saw fit. But she didn’t actually want to fight a war against the darkspawn.

“Yes, I supposed I did,” she answered at length.

“I was conscripted. Not that I didn’t want to join. I was training as a templar for the Chantry before Duncan recruited me. That was about six months ago."

Solona felt her mouth drop. “A templar?” she managed. What were the odds that she would meet two men in life that shared similar pleasing features and the same profession?

Alistair spread his hands out before him. “I know you are a mage, but it wasn’t my idea. I was raised in the Chantry. They decided my fate a long time ago.”

She felt guilty that he was rambling in an effort to put her at ease. She wasn’t afraid to be around him. The opposite in fact. She was just surprised by how alike he was to Cullen.

“Duncan saw I wasn’t happy and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I stand, a proud Grey Warden. The Grand Cleric would never have let me go if Duncan hadn’t forced the issue. I’ll always be grateful to him.”

“You speak fondly of Duncan.”

He cast his eyes downward. “I spent years in that Chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what I wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the Grand Cleric to help me.”

A bitter feeling rose in the back of her throat. Solona thought she had that in the people she had surrounded herself with in the Circle. A close friend in Jowan, who asked for her to risk everything for him at the cost of herself. Trust in Irving, to guide her in become a better person, not just a stronger mage. But the First Enchanter had leapt upon the chance to knock the Chantry and its templars down a peg. Even Greagoir. She expected the Knight-Commander to behave with a more level head and not immediately call for her to be dealt with at the first sign of things gone wrong.

True, Duncan had saved her from a worse fate, but Solona would have liked the offer to come out of genuine desire instead of pity.

“Does he make a habit of collecting unwanted strays?” Herself, Alistair, even Daveth, rescued from unfortunate situations.

“Or maybe he just happens to be a good man.” His voice was hard.

Solona winced. It hadn’t been her intention to offend him. Sometimes her mouth spoke words before her brain had finished processing them.

“You didn’t want to join the Chantry?” She asked, wanting to change the conversation.

“It just . . . wasn’t for me. I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry.”

Perhaps it was time to leave the discussion of the Chantry behind altogether. “There’s still a lot I don’t know about the Grey Wardens.”

“So I’d imagine,” chuckled Alistair. “What would you like to know?”

“What makes you all so special?”

“I don’t know that I’d use the word special. Different might be more accurate. The Grey Wardens are warriors without equal. Darkspawn threatened to destroy the word four times over. Each time, the Grey Wardens led mankind to victory. Nobody knows more about darkspawn, and nobody’s better equipped to deal with them. You’ll see, trust me.”

“So . . . they’re knights? Heroes?” Solona asked, confused.

“I . . . don’t know if I’d go that far. Duncan says the Grey Wardens do whatever is necessary to protect mankind from the darkspawn. That means some pretty extreme things. Whatever it takes to bring victory.”

She recalled that Duncan had said as much earlier when she asked his opinion on blood magic. So, the Grey Wardens of old may not have been heroes in shiny golden armor, but they were still heroes for ending the Blight.

“There’s so much I don’t know about the Grey Wardens,” she commented to herself. The history books contained only short paragraphs, summations of which lands were devastated and notable battles throughout each Blight. But details on the Wardens themselves were limited. She didn’t know where to start her line of questioning.

“Surely you’ve heard of Weisshaupt? The great aerie carved into the white cliffs far off in the Anderfels? That’s where the Grey Wardens once kept their griffons. The griffons died out, however, and our numbers have dwindled since the last Blight. There’s only a handful left in Ferelden. A few more in other nations.”

“There are more of us here, yes?”

“The others are camped with the king’s soldiers in the valley. The king’s given us a position of honor at the vanguard, despite our small numbers,” he answered. His lighthearted lilt didn’t quite cover the pride he clearly felt. “I think the king is actually excited to ride into battle with us. Maybe he thinks that’s what his father would have done.”

“Do they have the right to recruit anyone?” Already, she counted an ex-templar, a mage, and a petty thief amongst their number.

“King Maric, Cailan’s father, reaffirmed the power Grey Wardens were given during the Blights. In practice, we can’t conscript too often without hurting our cause. We were exiled from Ferelden once . . . best not to let that happen again.”

“What exactly is a Blight? Where do they come from?”

“You want the Chantry’s version or the truth?” Alistair quipped, making her grin.

“I already know the Chantry’s tale. Give me the truth.”

“The truth is we don’t really know.” He shrugged offhandedly. “They come up from the ground . . . and that’s as far as they’ve gotten.”

Solona shook her head ruefully. She would have expected the order dedicated to ridding the world of darkspawn would know how the Blights actually began.

“We may not know where the Blights came from, but the Grey Wardens know how to combat them. The first Blight nearly wiped us out. When defeated, the darkspawn flee back underground and seek out another Old God to taint, thus bringing another Blight.”

“Will there ever be an end to the Blights?”

Here, Alistair hesitated. “The Chantry doesn’t tell anyone that the Maker trapped seven Old Gods.”

Her initial response was relief. There was a comfort in knowing that Thedas wouldn’t be perpetually plagued by the threat of darkspawn. Then came the disgust that the Chantry was allowing everyone to live in fear magic for its role in the Blights when the world had already faced more than half of them. If this war was truly a Blight, only two more archdemons would remain.

Speaking of, “Where is the archdemon for this Blight? Duncan mentioned that it hadn’t been seen yet?”

“That’s right. We haven’t seen it yet. People are beginning to think this is just an unusually large darkspawn raid without an archdemon to unify them. But seriously . . . the archdemon could be in the Wilds, or underground. It could be hiding. Just because it hasn’t shown itself doesn’t mean it isn’t out there.”

“Why not kill the darkspawn when they’re underground?” It sounded reasonable to Solona. If there weren’t any darkspawn for the archdemon to lead, there wouldn’t really be any Blights.

“They’ve controlled the Deep Roads ever since they defeated the dwarven kingdoms. Even if we invaded, we can only chase them so far,” Alistair explained.

“Will I know an archdemon when I see it?”

“Oh definitely. They may not be Old Gods, but the archdemons are definitely dragons. Big ones. Intelligent, even. The Tevinter empire had big statues of them. Each dragon had a name and a place in the cosmos . . . it’s all very intricate.”

“Why are some people so skeptical?”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Apparently, the Grey Wardens killed so many darkspawn by the end of the last Blight, people decided they were gone for good.”

She understood his derision, for all that her history books led her to believe the very same, until Duncan corrected her. The Fourth Blight was in the Exalted Age four centuries ago. That was more than enough time for the darkspawn numbers to amass once more, especially since it was unknown where underground they came from. By now, there were probably thousands, tens of thousands even.

“How do the Grey Wardens end a Blight?”

“We chop of the snake’s head. It’s the only way.”

“Only the archdemon needs to die?” she clarified.

“According to texts, the most famous Grey Warden leader, Garahel, killed the archdemon Andorhal in personal combat at the Battle of Ayesleigh to end the last Blight. Without the archdemon to command them, the darkspawn flee back underground.”

Which explained why Duncan was positive this was a Blight. The sheer size of the horde was indication that something intelligent, the archdemon, was commanding them. Otherwise, they’d still be underground in search of it. But why wouldn’t he just tell the king that?

“How did we know about this Blight?”

“The Grey Wardens keep watch. We . . .” Alistair worried his lip, “feel the darkspawn when they come. You’ll understand after the Joining, if you . . . well, you’ll understand. Not to mention people start to notice when darkspawn pour out of the Wilds and taint everything around them. Just a guess.”

Solona appreciated that he tried to lighten the mood, but she wouldn’t let his slip go unnoticed. “What can you tell me about this Joining?”

“Honestly, nothing,” he hastily backtracked. “Try not to worry about it. It will . . . just distract you.”

She tried another tactic. Alistair had no problem enthusing Duncan’s virtues. If she kept him talking, he might accidentally reveal something else.

“Tell me about Duncan.”

“Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden . . . which he would say doesn’t mean much, as there aren’t many of us here. Yet. Beyond that, he’s a good man. A good judge of character. I owe him a lot.

“What about you?” Alistair turned the question on her. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s kind but firm. I owe him as well.”

“Fair enough,” Alistair accepted. “He’s done the best he can with what little he has . . . and that includes me, I guess.”

“Duncan claimed the Joining ritual would be an ordeal similar to my Harrowing.”

“I wish I could tell you more,” Alistair said, apologetic. “Maybe ask me again after Duncan speaks to you about it. Do you want to ask me about something else?”

“The upcoming battle? Do you believe we will win this one as well?” Solona was truly terrified at the idea of going into battle so soon. Never once laid eyes on a darkspawn, yet tomorrow she would be expected to wield her magic against them. Would her spells even be sufficient? Were the darkspawn affected by primal magic?

“The one tomorrow? I’ll tell you, it’s Teyrn Loghain we should be looking to win it, not the king. Cailan just wants his place in history. The teyrn is planning the strategy. Errrr, that’s my opinion, anyway. I guess I should be thankful the king favors us Grey Wardens, but I know who’s keeping the lid on the pot.”

“How much will I be participating?”

“You know, that’s a good question.” Solona barely refrained from rolling her eyes. She didn’t want to seem like she was mocking him, but it was a rather serious matter. “The other Grey Wardens are riding into battle with the king. I don’t know if you’ll be with them.”

“What are the chances of success?”

“I’m sure Teyrn Loghain has the battle planned to the last detail,” he assured her. “Still . . . no Blight has ever been defeated with so little cost.”

It was a horrible notion to consider. “And if we fail?”

“If we don’t break the horde here, Duncan says it will spread until it engulfs all of Ferelden. Then it will take an alliance of nations to fight it.”

Her history lessons had already told how well that would work out. That is to say, not well. Even when faced with a Blight, each nation only focused on its own borders.

“Which would be bad,” Alistair said, pushing some cheer into his voice. “Neither the king nor the teyrn really seems to believe this is a real Blight, however. Do you want to ask me about something else?”

Solona smiled. He had been incredibly patient with her. “No, I have no more questions.”

“Then let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Solona and Alistair stood about awkwardly, each apparently expecting the other to take the lead. She acquiesced when Alistair told her it would be a good way for her to learn to navigate the camp.

The mage took that as permission to keep exploring, trusting that he would tell her when it was expected they return to Duncan.

There was a second ramp on the other side of the quartermaster’s corner, which she learned led to the makeshift med camp. Solona raked her eyes over the dozens of cots, occupied by writhing men. Chantry initiates flitted from cot to cot, whispering prayers and trying to ease the soldiers’ pain. Her eyes lingered on one, where a red headed woman sat. The warrior, dressed in the armor of a king’s soldier, gripped the bedridden man’s hand tightly in one of her own. Her other hand caressed his face. Solona moved on, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. 

She wished she was better at healing magic. As it was, she could heal cuts and bruises, neither of which would be very helpful on the battlefield. She had often been told by senior enchanters that she had the aptitude for a spirit healer. Wynne in particular was very vocal about the honor that came with the school of advanced healing magic, and equally disappointed when Solona chose to nurture her affinity for elemental spells. The primal forces of nature came easier to her, second only to the spirit and entropy schools.

Nonetheless, Solona had been thankful that a spirit never approached her. Forging a connection with a Fade spirit meant higher templar scrutiny.

One soldier sat up as she passed by, claiming that the darkspawn was coming and they needed to abandon Ostagar.

“There are Grey Wardens here, you know.” Solona winked at Alistair.

“You may not want to remain here long, Warden,” said the nurse kneeling at the soldier’s bedside. “Most of these men have been Tainted by the darkspawn blood.”

“I saw them. The Grey Wardens will die! The king will die! We’ll all die!” the man raved.

“I apologize, Warden. He’s been like this ever since they found him in the Wilds.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Aside from his wounds, we’re not sure. His blood is untainted. He’s just . . . terrified.”

Solona couldn’t blame him. She had never seen a darkspawn and here she was, about to join an order dedicated to destroying them.

“You can feel it, can’t you? They taint the land, turn it black and sick. You can feel it inside! They’ll come out of that forest and spread! Like caterpillars covering a tree, they’ll swallow us whole!”

The nurse pushed on his shoulder to force the man to recline. Alistair tugged on her elbow, leading her away from the increasingly distressed man.

“Will that happen to me?”

“No,” Alistair said, confidently. “That man didn’t bear any Taint.” That wasn’t what Solona had wanted to hear. Almost as if he had read her thoughts, “Besides, Duncan wouldn’t have recruited you if believed you’d faint like a damsel at the first encounter with darkspawn.”

That drew a laugh from her.

“Alistair? Is it time to return to Duncan?”

The duo turned towards the center of the clearing, where a Chantry priest was surrounded by a semicircle of praying men.

Alistair stepped forward. “Ah, Ser Jory. We’re just undergoing the last of the preparations now. This is Solona, our last recruit.”

She inclined her head, taking note of the wary way in which he looked more at the oaken branch over her shoulder than her face.

“I hail from Redcliffe, where I served as a knight under the command of Arl Eamon. I was not aware they permitted women to join the Grey Wardens. None of those I’ve seen thus far have been.”

His elitist attitude rubbed her the wrong way. Was she supposed to be impressed that he served an arl? And for that matter, why wouldn’t women be able to join the Grey Wardens? Women served as templars, proof that the fairer gender was capable of being warriors.

“Perhaps they saved the best for last.” Solona felt her response was justified when Alistair failed to hide his snort.

“You must have impressed Duncan, and that’s enough for me.” There was a slight flush to Jory’s face, but she had to commend him for maintaining his composure. “I hope we’re both lucky enough to eventually join the Wardens. Is it not thrilling to be given that chance?”

Solona shifted a little closer to Alistair. Jory talked as if they had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. A week ago, she might have agreed, because joining the Grey Wardens would have first and foremost meant freedom from the tower.

But she had been forced to face reality. Duncan had spoken of his order at great length during their travel south. One didn’t join the Grey Wardens in search of glory. They had a singular purpose. They cared for nothing more than the slaughter of darkspawn and protecting innocents from the devastation that was a Blight. All the heroes in the stories he relayed had been named such after they died for their cause.

She wasn’t trying to diminish the Grey Wardens by any means. They were a respectable group of men, elves, and dwarves, if Duncan was to be believed, and they tirelessly fought the battle most were all too willing to forget about as soon as a Blight ended. But it was not an order for glory seekers.

Still, Solona tried to give him the same courtesy Jory had given her. Duncan had chosen both of them as recruits, so the commander must have seen something more than she was.

So Solona agreed with him, her smile more than a little uneasy.

“I fought hard to get here. Impressing Duncan was not easy.” Perhaps the Rivaini man was only impressed by those who were willing to sell out their honor, friends, and morals.

She immediately felt guilty for the churlish thought. Duncan had appreciated her grit and determination. She hadn’t taken the easy way out.

“Tell me, has anyone told you what this Joining ritual entails? I had no idea there were more tests after getting recruited.”

Solona side glanced at Alistair, who was wearing a perfectly pleasant smile.

“Now, now, Ser Jory. You’ll learn in good time. As a matter of fact, we should be just about ready to begin. If you want to head back to Duncan . . .”

Both recruits saw his suggestion for the order it really was. Jory gave hasty goodbyes and hurried down the ramp.

“Sorry about that.” Alistair ran a hand through his dark blond locks. “Ser Jory was the first to arrive, and he hasn’t let up about the Joining since. Seemed to think if he pleaded enough we’d break our oaths to keep Grey Warden secrets. Honestly, I’ve never seen a grown man cry so much.”

Solona believed him. The two minute long conversation had proven Jory to be a whiner, and possibly even possessing an inferiority complex. Most of what he had said was almost defensive of his credentials, as if he needed to prove he deserved to be here.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any food?” The question came from a caged man wearing only his smalls. “Or that you’ve finally come to sentence me?”

“Sentence you?” she echoed.

“He’s a deserter,” Alistair said, voice hard. “Was caught sneaking around camp at night.”

The prisoner sank to the floor of his cage. “I’m not a deserter. But there’s no arguing them out of that. Armies are funny that way. I would have, eventually. But I was just trying to steal some supplies from that creepy Tranquil guy.” Admitting that the end goal was desertion probably wasn’t going to help this man’s case, she thought. “If you bring me some food, I’ll give you the key to the mages’ chest. I swallowed it, earlier, and it’s recently come back into my possession.”

That was disgusting.

The mage walked away without a word. The prisoner would have to work on his sales pitch on someone else. Distasteful as she thought it was to let the man starve while they decided his fate, she wasn’t going to land herself in the cage next to him.

Solona paused at the base of the second ramp. Alistair had told Jory that they were probably ready to begin the Joining ritual, but she had only explored a small portion of the camp. He seemed content to let her roam, for the moment. Would he demand they get on with the Joining if she tried to see more of the camp?

“What do you need? You haven’t brought me more instructions from the teyrn, I hope.”

She was startled out of her thoughts by the gruff words apparently aimed at her. The man they belonged to looked foreboding. Stern brow, pointed eyes, and sharply trimmed facial hair. Unlike the majority of soldiers, he and all the other men in the area were wearing leather armor that allowed a greater freedom of movement at the cost of less protection.

“Do you talk to everyone like that?”

“If I feel like it.” The man studied her a moment. “If you’re not from the teyrn, what do you want? We’re busy.”

Solona didn’t want anything, especially not after the brusque way he talked to her. But if he was offering to answer questions, she was curious as to why this group of soldiers wore leather as opposed to chainmail.

“You don’t look like the other soldiers in the army.”

“We aren’t. We’re Ash Warriors.” Well, that was helpful.

“And what is an Ash Warrior?”

“Our training has been passed down since Luthias the dwarfson first harnessed the battle-rage of the dwarves. It is an old tale.”

Apparently, once going, the Ash Warrior could be very loquacious. He spun a tale on how a tribesman Luthias, strong and fierce despite his short stature, went to make an alliance with the dwarves of Orzammar, falling in love with Scaea, the king’s daughter. It was she who taught Luthias to harness the dwarven battle-wrath, ignoring all pain. In turn, he taught the rest of his clan.

“So, you descend from the clan?”

The Ash Warrior heaved a put-upon sigh. “He was simply the first to be taught. Others were inspired by his death to follow his path.”

Sensing more to the story, Solona asked, “How did he die?”

“Luthias prowess earned him the love of Morrighan’nan, a beautiful chieftain of another tribe. When Scaea learned of his seduction, she returned to her people. Luthias was grieved. He sent Morrighan’nan away, but this vexed her, and began a long war between their tribes. In the end, Luthias slew Morrighan’nan in single combat. However, his wounds were great, and he perished when the rage ended. The dwarves came from Orzammar that day and gave Luthias an honored burial mound, and we live by his teachings even today.”

Intrigued, Solona continued to ask about the Ash Warriors, coming to learn they were also famous for fighting alongside their mabari. They put a great level of trust in the mabari, she thought. For all their intelligence, were they not still dogs? They painted themselves and the mabari with kaddis, a special warpaint so they could discern friend from foe in the midst of battle.

“What if the enemy is painted with kaddis as well?”

“Why? Would you steal our kaddis and give it to the darkspawn hordes?”

“I hope your joking,” she said weakly. The mage couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to help the darkspawn.

“If you tried, we would kill you. And that is no joke.”

“What is the teyrn having you do?” Solona grasped for a change in topic, recalling that he first believed her to have come with instructions from Loghain.

“We are to scout the Wilds and watch the progression of the darkspawn horde. The teyrn has changed our scouting route a dozen times. With luck, we’ll find and slaughter many stragglers. The hunt will be good if my hound survives the blood of his prey. If he dies, I shall mourn tonight.”

A sense of dread filled her. “Survive the blood? What do you mean?”

“Darkspawn blood is poisonous, but not always fatal. Those who survive grow immune to its effects.”

Solona felt faint. All the pieces of the puzzle that was the Joining had fallen into place. Grey Wardens were so effective against darkspawn because they needn’t fear contracting the Taint. She would drink darkspawn blood, becoming a Grey Warden or dying a painful death.

It certainly explained why Duncan hadn’t gone up and down the length of Ferelden conscripting anyone that could hold a sword.

The Ash Warrior had said more, but she missed it, distracted as she was by her revelation. Still, Solona thanked him for sharing his tale. She turned nearly knocking shoulders with Alistair. It served as a reminder to pull herself together. She wasn’t supposed to know what the Joining entailed for this very reason. Faced with the knowledge that she would have to drink the blood of darkspawn, Solona wanted nothing more than to run.

In retrospect, it was easy to understand why rites of passage like the Harrowing and the Joining were kept secret until it was time. Given too much time to prepare, one would exhaust themselves. For mages, overextending limitations was dangerous. Ripe picking for a demon possession. She could only imagine how few volunteers the Grey Wardens would have if all of Thedas knew drinking darkspawn blood was a requirement upon signing up.

On auto-pilot, she walked over to Duncan’s fire, closely followed by a concerned Alistair.

Duncan looked approving as the duo joined the other recruits. “You found Alistair then, did you? Good. I’ll assume you’re ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course,” he threw a pointed look at the other full-fledged Warden, “that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.”

The younger man appeared unaffected by the scolding. “What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army.”

Solona literally bit her tongue to prevent any sound escaping.

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.” Duncan’s voice shifted easily from lecturing to concern.

Abashed, Alistair dipped his head. “You’re right, Duncan. I apologize.”

She didn’t have time to consider what Duncan meant by ammunition against the Grey Wardens, because the man in question had turned his attention on the three recruits. Jory and Daveth maintained a fairly large distance between themselves and the tower of fire. Solona, used to the roaring fires that kept the Circle Tower warm, was unbothered.

“Now then, since you are all here, we can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

The two men paled, whether from finally being told they’d have to confront the darkspawn or because they understood the purpose of fetching darkspawn blood, Solona knew not.

“Surely you could have acquired some blood before now.”

The words fell from her mouth before she could stop them. The corner of Alistair’s lip tilted upwards. Thankfully, Duncan took her verbal diarrhea in good humor.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “But you recruits must work together to collect the components, however. It’s as much a part of the Joining as what comes after.”

Solona fervently hoped they would be allowed one last meal before they underwent the Joining. Her last hot meal was just after she left the Tower. The stew from the Spoiled Princess which she hardly had the appetite to eat in light of the exhausting day she had had.

“Alistair is the most junior member of the order and will accompany as is tradition. Do not worry,” he comforted. “I doubt you will need to go far into the Wilds to find what you seek.”

“And what’s the second task?” came Daveth’s drawl. “Easier than scooping up tainted blood, I hope.”

“There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls, if you can.”

“Is this part of our joining too?” Jory asked.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Duncan had clearly directed the second task at the former templar. It only made sense to have him perform his task while he accompanied them as duty demanded.

“No,” the commander said simply, “but the effort must be made. I have every confidence you are up to the task.” Jory’s back straightened at the praise. Interestingly, Solona noted, Duncan had been looking solely at her and Alistair.

“What kind of scrolls are they?” She was curious what the Grey Wardens might have left behind centuries ago.

“Old treaties, if you’re curious.” Solona grinned innocently under the knowing look he directed at her. “Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They were once considered only formalities. With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with.”

She silently marveled at the idea that these old treaties may have survived the long years, though she wasn’t as confident that they could be useful. Chances were, based on how they were worded, the treaties would no longer apply. Or more accurately, politicians would tear apart the ancient writing so as to not be contractually bound by it.

“And if they are no longer there?” asked Daveth, casually cleaning out dirt from under his fingernails with a knife.

“It’s possible the scrolls may have been destroyed. Or even stolen. Though the seal’s magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal.”

Duncan knew just what to say to pique her interest. Now, Solona was itching to get into the wilds and examine this complex magic seal.

“I don’t understand. Why leave such things in a ruin if they’re so valuable?” Alistair’s confusion was understandable.

“It was assumed that one day we would return,” was his answer. “A great many things were assumed that have not held true.”

The air around them grew heavy. Solona could only imagine what made the older man so solemn.

“How will we find the archive?”

“It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search.”

The mage cocked an eyebrow, wondering why the phrasing of their objective had changed. She was under the impression that finding the archive was Alistair’s task. Since he was obligated to lead the Warden recruits on their own task, it was simply efficient to complete his own at the same time. Now Duncan made it sound as if she, Jory and Daveth needed to locate the archive, and gathering the necessary vials of darkspawn blood along the way was convenient. Two birds, one stone.

Tasks given, Duncan turned to the man standing beside her. “Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely.”

“We will,” the dirty blond stated firmly.

“Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.”

Permission granted, Daveth practically sauntered in the direction of the gate heading into the Wilds. Solona shrugged at Alistair’s amused expression, following after the rogue. Jory fell into step next to her, presumably not wanting to be labeled scared for walking at the rear of the group.

“Three warriors and a mage walk into the Wilds,” she muttered under her breath.

Unseen behind her, Alistair quirked his lips. He was quite looking forward to the congregation after the Joining. The Grey Wardens would gather around a fire pit with good quality alcohol, celebrating the new brothers and sisters to join their ranks and toasting those who succumb to the Taint’s poison. He dearly hoped Solona would survive. It was rare that Alistair, as an almost, albeit unwilling, templar, met a mage that didn’t make him anxious, readying the lyrium in his veins for a smite.


End file.
